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LONG ODDS 


A NOVEL 


BY 

k 

HAWLEY SMART 

Author of. “Saddle and Sabre,” “Bad to Beat,” “ Breezie Langton,’ 
Etc., Etc. 





NEW YORK 

FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY 

142 AND 144 Worth Street 


CorTKiGHT, 1889 , 

BY 

JOHN W. LOVELL. 



LONG ODDS. 


CHAPTER 1. 

TAKE CARE OF DAMOCLES. 

GLORIOUS night. The moon, pale regent of 
the sky, with all her glittering court is marching 
like an army through the heavens. The num- 
berless lights of Cairo twinkle brightly, and the 
cigars glow like fire-flies under the verandah of Shepheard's 
Hotel Just visible from the lounging-chairs there, an un- 
usually brilliant gleam of light catches the eye, evidently 
proceeding from some large building which is garishly 
illuminated. From that spot, at that time of night, the 
most striking object perhaps in the city of the Khedive. 

‘ So you’re getting pretty tired of the place you have 
to save. Jack, eh ? ^ 

‘Yes,' replied the Honourable Jack Cuxwold of her 
Majesty’s — th Lancers. ‘ Before Tel-el-Kebir the cer- 
tainty that we had work before us kept us going. Then 
the ride down here was glorious, a match against time, 
whether we reached Cairo in time to save the city.' 

‘ Yes,' said Flood, ‘from all accounts you weren't an hour 
too soon. Arabi's defeated troops would have fired and 
sacked it in another four-and-twenty-hours.' 

‘Just so,' replied Jack Cuxwold. ‘I fancy that's what 
would have taken place. Defeated soldiery “ out of hand” 
would probably treat a wealthy city in that way.' 

‘ Well, it's all over now ; and I suppose you'll be soon 
iComing home again ? ' 

A 



2 


Long Odds. 

‘ Not a chance of our coming home for ever so long,’ 
retorted Cuxwold ; ‘ and as for its being all over, I very 
much doubt that. We’ve pooh-poohed the Mahdi, and 
there being no European troops engaged in it, haven’t 
paid much attention to the annihilation of Hicks’ column; 
but these Arabs are on the boil, and when a fellow calls 
himself a prophet, if they only take him up, there’s no 
saying where their fanaticism may not carry them.’ 

‘ Exactly !’ said Flood. ‘ And I can fancy these fellows 
thinking a raid from their own sandy deserts into Lower 
Egypt, in the name of religion, a very profitable specula- 
tion. By the way, you were in luck at dinner. That was 
a deuced pretty girl you contrived to sit next.’ 

‘ She was, Master Alec, and very pleasant to ^Ik to 
besides.’ 

‘ Did you make out her name and belongings ? ’ 

‘She is a Miss Bramton,’ replied Cuxwold ; ‘and that 
little dark man who sat next her was her uncle. They 
rather puzzled me. She was as ladylike a girl as you 
would meet anywhere ; but, hang it, I can’t make him out’ 

‘ Hardly looked a gentleman,’ rejoined Flood. 

‘No,’ said the other, ‘whatever he is, he’s not that. 
From what Miss Bramton told me, I gathered that they 
had come abroad for the benefit of her uncle’s health. He 
is delicate in the chest, and has fled from the rigour of an 
English winter.’ 

‘ Then they’re settled here for some time ? ’ * 

‘ I suppose so. Miss Bramton told me that they had 
no intention of leaving till the winter was well over.’ 

As has been gathered from the previous conversation, 
the Honourable Jack Cuxwold, second son of the Earl of 
Ranksborow, was a dragoon, whose regiment had formed 
paii of the original expedition to Egypt. He had been 
present at the battle of Tel-el-Kebir, and then joined in 
Stewart’s dashing ride to Cairo. Since then he had been 
kicking his heels about that city, and was now fain to 
confess that he was most heartily sick of it. He had 
been up the Great Pyramid, done the Mosques, seen the 
Sphinx, ransacked the Bazaars, assisted in getting up 
divisional races, and, in short, to use his own words, had 
thoroughly exhausted the Khedive’s capital. But 


Take care of Damoctes. % 

knew there was no prospect of getting away, for with 
Gordon shut up in Khartoum, and the storm clouds of 
battle gathering in the desert, no man in health could 
think of applying for leave. Alec Flood was an old 
friend of his whom he had come across two or three 
days before, and with whom this evening he had been 
dining at Shepheard's Hotel. Flood was one of those 
men, whom you always do come across, blessed with a 
comfortable income and a restless disposition; he literally 
‘wandered up and down upon the earth.’ As for his 
friends, it did not signify what part of the world they had 
betaken themselves to, they were always prepared to 
see Alec Flood turn up in his usual listless fashion. He 
never seemed to know where he was going, and, what 
was v?ry exasperating to people of ordinarily well-regu^ 
lated minds, he never seemed to care. If he was late 
for train or steamer, going to such and such a place, he 
would get into the next, perfectly regardless of what its 
destination might be. ‘ What does it matter,’ he said 
upon one of these occasions, ‘ I haven’t made up my 
mind, you see, where to go, but I’m quite determined to 
go for the present.’ Cairo amused him, it was not that 
he hadn’t done it all before, but he had met Cuxwold 
and two or three other old friends, and so had resolved 
to pull up there for a little. Unmarried, and with no 
profession, he was free to roam wheresoever he would. 
Like Ulysses he had seen men and cities, and could 
discourse pleasantly of both, and was cordially welcomed 
in all such society as he affected ; but on this point he 
was somewhat fastidious, and by no means to be be- 
guiled by all cards of invitation. 

‘ I say,’ exclaimed Cuxwold at length, ‘ we can’t spend 
the whole evening in this drowsy old verandah ; what do 
you say to coming over there ? ’ and he jerked his head 
in the direction of the building that shone out so bril- 
liantly against the lights of Cairo. 

‘ Anything to see much ? ’ rejoined the other senten- 
tiously. 

‘Well a music hall is a music hall,’ rejoined Jack 
Cuxwold. ‘ It’s not so entertaining as the Oxford, still one 
hears a good song sometimec ; and they’ve a girl there 


4 Long Odds, 

who warbles French chansons of the Ther^se type rathef^ 
archly. At all events, it is better fun than sitting here.* 

Alec Flood said nothing, but rose and prepared to 
accompany his mercurial guest. Left to himself, he 
would have smoked passively as an Oriental for the 
next hour or two, and then retired to bed ; but the rest- 
less Anglo-Saxon blood of Jack Cuxwold rebelled against 
such passive enjoyment. 

‘ Come on,* he exclaimed, ‘ it*s no distance ; and 
though the streets of Cairo are not policed like those 
•of London, yet nobody ever presumes to interfere with 
‘Our insular race in any way. 

‘No,* rejoined Flood, laughing, ‘the conquerors stalk 
abroad with much majesty at present. It isn’t till later 
on that the conquered avenge their wrongs by midnight 
assassination.* 

Thus jesting, the two young men 'left their hotel, 
and made their way to this last exotic of Western civilisa- 
tion newly grafted on the East. The music hall was, 
as Cuxwold had explained, of very ordinary type, differ- 
ing but little from the conventional London entertain- 
ment. Only in this wise, that there was a considerable 
amount of French singing introduced into it. Flood and 
Cuxwold were perhaps more amused by the queer mklange 
of the audience than in anything they saw upon the stage. 
The seemingly congregation of all nationalities present, 
from the Frank in light tweeds to his brother in evening 
costume ; from the Greek of the Levant to the Armenians; 
from the scarlet fezzed officer of the Egyptian army to the 
undress of his British compeer. Eastern dresses of all 
kinds were scattered amongst the audience. The hall was 
crowded and, needless to say, hot. 

They had been there for about an hour, and the mer- 
curial Cuxwold was already beginning to doubt whether 
the game was worth the candle, when they were accosted 
by a slim dark man of unmistakable Jewish physiognomy, 
who, in somewhat indifferent English, said, — 

‘ Ah, pouf I Gentlemen, this place is something too hot. 
What would you think of adjourning to a little establish- 
ment that I know of ? Ha ! we get there something cool 
to drink, and a leetle amusement. Ha ! we see the leetle 


Take care of Damocles, 5 

ball go round and round, we back the colour, we fill our 
pockets, we rinse our throats ; ah peste 1 it is more amus- 
ing than this place. What say you, gentlemen ? Will you 
stroll across to the establishment of my friend? It is 
close by. All the best gentlemen of Cairo look in there.* 
‘ Gambling house tout,* said Flood in an undertone. 
‘No doubt,* rejoined Cuxwold, ‘still this is deuced 
dull. Suppose we go, Alec, and look in for half-an-hour, 
just to see how they manage these things in the East* 
‘All right old man,* rejoined Flood ; ‘ but a gambling- 
house is a gambling-house, whether you see it in the East or 
in the West. However, I don*t suppose that you or I will 
hurt ourselves much at it I am good to go if you like. 
Show us the way in,* he said, turning to their new acquaint- 
ance, ‘and we will see if we are in luck’s view to-night* 
They emerged from the music hall under the guidance 
of their new friend, and crossing the road, plunged at 
once into the labyrinth of small streets that run at the 
back of the Great Square, till their guide stopped at a 
low doorway, over which, as has been the fashion of such 
dens from time immemorial, there blazed a brilliant fan- 
light. A tap at the door, and the portal was at once 
opened, and their mentor led the way into a narrow 
passage which opened into a brilliantly lighted room, 
wherein a roulette table, surrounded by a throng of 
eager speculators, was in full swing. 

‘A queer crowd, by Jove! Jack; some villainous faces 
as ever I saw,* whispered Flood. 

‘Yes,* replied the other; ‘and look, Alec, I*m blessed 
if there isn’t our invalid. There’s Bramton punting, if 
I know anything about it, like a man who means business.* 
‘ Ah, gentlemen,* exclaimed their conductor, ‘ never 
mind that just now[; you will allow me to be your guide. 
I am well known here. I think just a quail en aspic 
and a glass of champagne before we battle the enemy.’ 

‘ Right you are,* rejoined Cuxwold ; ‘ I*ve a prodigious 
thirst on me.* 

‘It strikes me we have met before, my friend,* said 
Alec Flood, as they followed the stranger into an inner 
room, where a liberally furnished supper-table was laid 
out. ‘ I can*t quite recollect where.* 


6 


Long Odds, 

‘Impossible, monsieur,’ interposed the stranger. ‘I 
have an excellent memory for faces, and, monsieur will 
pardon me,’ he continued with a low bow, ‘ his is not one 
that we — ah, what you call it? — forget.’ 

He called to the attendants, and Cuxwold and Flood 
were speedily supplied with an excellent supper, washed 
down with equally good wine. That finished, they at 
once adjourned to the salon de jeu, 

‘Now, messieurs,’ said their guide laughing, ‘give me 
a lead. I never do right myself. I will follow your game, 
gentlemen.’ 

It was the ordinary roulette as played at Monte Carlo 
or any other similar establishment ; but the eager faces 
and glittering eyes of the gamblers showed that the play 
was deep. There was all the silence that would charac- 
terise a London card-room, when the battle waged fierce, 
and if luck went against them, ruin ere daybreak stared 
some of the combatants in the face. But these Easterns 
cannot control their physiognomies like the children of 
the West, and, though nothing but a smothered exclama- 
tion or low ejaculation of triumph escaped their lips, the 
flashing eyes and flushed faces showed that the intoxica- 
tion of gambling was boiling in their veins. 

‘ A run on the red,’ whispered Flood ; ‘ best follow that 
as far as the colour goes. Back the numbers to suit 
your own fancy.’ 

Once more did the ball go circling round, and again 
did the croupier asseverate that red was the successful 
colour. It speedily became evident to Flood that what 
he had first deemed deep play all round was prettily 
nearly confined in this instance to Bramton, who had 
been evidently losing heavily, was backing black with 
dogged persistency, and was evidently equally unfortunate 
in his selection of the numbers. His face was cool and 
impassive, but there was an angry light in his eyes. As 
Flood and Cuxwold could see, he kept on increasing his 
stake after every rebuff. Once more did the ball spin 
round, and as it slowly hesitated into which partition to 
dribble into, the croupier, either accidentally or by design, 
touched the board with his hand. 

‘ Foul play, by G — d 1 ' shouted Bramton, springing to 


Take care of Damoctes, J 

his feet * No such run as this was ever brought about by 
fair means ; that thief can pull the strings as he likes. rU 
have back every shilling he has won of me.’ 

In an instant all was confusion. The men of that 
motley crew not only snatched up their own stakes, 
but in some instances perhaps as much of their neigh 
hour’s as they could lay hands on. The quiet of the 
chamber was broken, and the room rang with a perfect 
polyglot of blasphemy. The myrmidons of the estab- 
lishment, of course, gathered round the bank, and well 
they might, for there were those in that precious crew 
who reckoned little of how money was come by. 

• Disgorge, you scoundrel ! ’ screamed Bramton. ‘ If you 
don’t return me the money you’ve robbed me of, I bring 
the whole place about your ears. I pay up when I lose; 
but I’ll be hung if I’ll submit to being robbed,’ and, in 
the excitement of the moment, he sprang at the croupier. 

For a minute or two the Mc/ee seemed about to be 
general, and at all events a sharp struggle took place 
around the bank. Cuxwold and Flood half fought half 
pushed their way to the scene of action. Suddenly a 
shriek rang through the room, followed by a cry of ‘ I 
am stabbed.’ The crowd fell back, and Bramton reeled 
out of the bathed in blood, and fell fainting on 

the floor. In an instant the two Englishmen were at his 
side. Cuxwold raised his head, and Flood, who in his 
wanderings had acquired some slight knowledge of surgery, 
tore open the wounded man’s waistcoat only to discover 
two deep gashes in his chest from which the blood was 
welling. The tragic ending of the affair seemed to have 
sobered all those present. They had meddled with an 
Englishman — meddled with him even to his death — and 
there was an obvious desire on the part of the company 
to depart as quickly and privily as might be. A few 
minutes and the house was cleared of all save the wounded 
man, Cuxwold, Flood and its proprietors ; and these latter 
seemed in much perturbation at the untoward occurrence. 
Cuxwold noticed that the gentleman who had introduced 
them was amongst those who had disappeared. He had 
seen him just before the commencement of the fray, 
apparently staking his money on the game ; but whether 


I Long Odds, 

iiC had, taken any part in the scrimmage, or when he 
disappeared, Jack couldn’t say. 

‘ It’s no use,’ gasped the wounded man ; ‘ there’s nothing 
much to be done for me. I’ve got my gruel, and I know 
it. Give me a glass of something, just to keep me going 
for a few minutes while I say what I’ve got to say. You’re 
Englishmen, both of you, aren’t you ? ’ 

Flood nodded assent as he rose to his feet. 

‘No,’ cried the dying man, as Flood turned towards 
the door; ‘doctors are of no use. I shall be gone 
before they can get here.’ 

‘ I regret to say that, Mr Bramton, I agree with you,’ re- 
plied Flood gravely. ‘ I am only going to get you some 
stimulant We will do w^hat we can to forward your wishes, 
but I know enough of surgery to warn you that you have 
no time to lose in telling us what you want.’ 

‘ Good chap your pal ; but he comes pretty straight to 
the point, don’t he ? Well it’s best, in cases like mine. 
Let’s see. I’ve seen your face before. Ah 1 you’re the 
young chap who was at the hotel, and was so civil to 
Lucy. She is a good girl that. She and Damocles are the 
only creatures I care about on earth. What I want you 
to do is this — is your friend never coming with that 
brandy, or whatever it is ? — I feel so faint.’ 

‘ Here he is, here he is,’ said Cuxwold softly, as he took 
the tumbler from Flood’s hand, and held it to Bramton’s 
lips. 

The man swallowed it eagerly, and then continued, — 

‘ That’s what I want you to see about. J ust break it 
to her. Let her down easy. Poor girl, she does care a 
bit about her old uncle; and then, you see, gentlemen, she’s 
all alone here in a foreign land, and don’t know the hang 
of things. If you’ll just put matters straight for her. 
Manage all about this row ; take her passage for England, 
and all that. There’s plenty of money ; Dick Bramton 
ain’t dying a pauper by any means. Give me some more 
brandy. Thanks ; that’ll do. Will you promise to do 
what I ask gentlemen ? Don’t say more about this than 
you can help. Say I’m dead, stabbed in the streets, any- 
thing. Give her my love. Where am I ? — it’s getting dark. 
Tell her to take care of Damocles. I wonder what time 


Good-bye in Real Earnest. 9 

it is? I feel awfully sleepy. It’s hard, too, with the 
winner of the Derby in your stable; ’ and with those words 
Dick Bramton fell back upon the cushions they had laid 
on him, and seemed to sleep. 

Slowly the blood flowed from the wound, and trickled 
over the carpet, in spite of all Flood’s efforts to staunch 
it. A quarter of an hour, a slight twitching of the mouth, 
a faint fluttering of the eyelids, and Dick Bramton’s spirit 
had sped, 

CHAPTER II. 

GOOD-BYE IN REAL EARNEST. 

By this time the gendarmes had made their appearance up- 
on the scene, and at once proceeded to take possession of 
the house and its occupants. Only for Cuxwold’s uniforn., 
there was no doubt but both he and Flood would have 
found themselves in custody; but the guardians of th^ 
law were shy of meddling with anyone wearing the Queer 
of England’s uniform. The preliminary investigation told 
notliing. The three men, who avowedly were the pro- 
prietors of the house, protested their innocence, and 
neither Flood nor Cuxwold, although they were fighting 
their way to Bramton’s assistance at the time, had seen 
who it was that had dealt those fatal blows. 

They certainly could formulate no accusation against 
the three men in question. Cuxwold took a high tone 
with the officer of gendarmes, and that functionary at 
once proved subservient and willing to do anything 
the English captain deemed advisable. He acquiesced 
at once to Cuxwold’s proposal that the body of the dead 
man should be removed to the hotel at daybreak. He 
would make every effort to discover the murderer, and 
exert himself to the utmost of his ability in order that 
justice should be done ; but it was difficult. They had 
many of such cases; so many of these Greeks, Arab 
dealers, traders, etc., from the Upper Province, carried 
knives, and were wont to use them freely. He would 
send down some of his men at daybreak with a hand 
litter VO remove the deceased to Shepheard’s Hotel. He 
would not trouble the gentlemen more than he could 


10 


Long Odds. 

help, but it would be necessary that Captain Cuxwcid 
should give evidence before the Cadi, and then with 
‘plenty salaam^ to the tAvo Englishmen, and a fierce 
Avhisper to the proprietors of the house, that if plenty of 
bakseesh were not forthcoming, it would be the worse 
for them, the man in authority took his departure. 

‘This is a nice business weVe let ourselves in for,* 
said Flood in a low tone as they commenced their vigil 
o’er the dead. ‘ I wonder what became of that confounded 
little Semite. I can’t help thinking I’ve seen that fellow’s 
face somewhere before.’ 

‘ Well,’ said Jack meditatively, ‘ I suppose all this would 
have happened whether we had been here or not. The 
whole thing passed too quick for us to save this poor 
fellow ; bur, for all that, it’s as well we were here.’ 

‘As you say so, my dear boy, I suppose it is; but 
upon my life 1 can’t see it.’ 

‘ We can do the poor fellow’s last bidding,* said Jack. 
‘ It’s better that pretty girl at the hotel should have the 
thing broken gently to her, instead of hearing of it 
abruptly. She will want someone, too, to help her about 
all her arrangements to return home, etc.’ 

Flood eyed his companion curiously for a moment, and 
then remarked, — 

‘True ; you are a good fellow, Jack, and always had a 
touch of chivalry in your nature. Consider me as under 
your orders in every respect about this affair. I wonder 
who or what is Damocles — a dog, I suppose?’ 

‘ I can tell you all about that,’ replied Cuxwold. 

‘ That name reveals a good deal to me about the poor 
fellow who’s gone. I don’t do very much in the racing 
way, myself — younger sons can’t afford it ; but I come, 
remember, of a regular racing stock. My noble father 
and Dartree, my eldest brother, are up to their eyes in it. 
Well, if it’s only to see what their horses are doing, I 
always skim the racing intelligence. Damocles is a two- 
year old of whom great things are expected. He was 
bought for a lot of money last year by Richard Bramton, 
who is a well-known racing man — began life, I believe, 
as a stable-boy — and who was yesterday one of the luckiest 
owners on the turf.’ 


Good-bye in Real Earnest 1 1 

* Ah ! a self-made man ? ’ remarked Flood. 

‘ Quite so ; I never saw him before last night at dinner, 
and never dreamt of his being the man who on the tuif 
they call “Lucky Dick Bramton.” How the deuce a 
niece of his is what Miss Bramton is is somewhat diffi- 
cult to explain.’ 

‘ It is odd/ said Flood. ‘ She was as refined, ladylike 
a looking girl as one ever came across, and her poor uncle, 
even in his last moments, quite justified your opinion of 
him as to his not being a gentleman ; he was very rough 
of speech.’ 

‘ Yes,’ replied Cuxwold ; ‘ but here are the first streaks 
of dawn. Ah 1 and here come the gendarmes with their 
stretchers.’ 

The gendarmes at once entered, the house, and the 
remains of poor Dick Bramton were at once placed rever- 
ently on the stretcher by Cuxwold and Flood. Under 
their auspices, the body was borne back to Shepheard’s 
Hotel, and safely deposited in the dead man’s chamber, 
there to await burial. The proprietor of the hotel was 
much concerned. Such a thing as the assassination of a 
guest of his within a mile of his house had never happened 
before. He could not understand it. When did it take 
place ? But upon this point Cuxwold and his friend 
were somewhat reticent, preferring at present that the 
hotel-keeper should believe it to be the result of a street 
brawl rather than of a fracas in a gaming-house. 

‘Now,’ said Jack, ‘let’s go up to your room. By the 
time I’ve made myself a little decent. Miss Bramton, no 
doubt, will be up, and I’ve got to tell her then what has 
happened. 

People rise early in the East. There is not much to 
induce one generally to sit up in such cities as Cairo, 
Men will sit up to play under all climes, and under all 
circumstances. Nothing but the most arbitrary law stops 
the gambler in his favourite pursuit. 

Miss Bramton was up betimes, and flitting about her 
sitting-room, waiting for her uncle to come to breakfast. 
They usually took that meal more or less together in their 
own apartment ; but her uncle was habitually unpunctual, 
and Lucy as often as not had finished breakfast before 


12 


Ij)ng Odds. 

Dick Bramton put in his appearance. She was just de- 
bating in her own mind whether she should ring for that 
repast, when a servant entered and said that a gentleman 
wished to see her. To the very natural request of ‘ What 
is the gentleman^s name ? ’ the waiter produced an en- 
velope, on the back of which was written, ‘ Captain Cux- 
wold requests to see Miss Bramton on business of urgent 
importance.' That Captain Cuxwold was the name of 
her neighbour at the table d'hote on the previous night 
Lucy was aware, and though the request was not a little 
extraordiriary, still, from what she had seen of him, she 
could not but believe that he must have reasonable 
grounds for making it. 

‘Tell the gentleman I shall be very glad to see him.' 

Another moment and Jack Cuxwold entered the room, 
feeling, sooth to say, considerably more nervous than was 
his wont at being shown into a lady’s boudoir. 

‘ Good morning. Captain Cuxwold,' said Miss Bramton. 
‘The waiter tells me that you wish to see me; but we know 
how stupid these people at the hotel are. It is far more 
probable that your business is with my uncle, whose ac- 
quaintance seems to me to comprise men of all kinds and 
conditions.' 

‘No, Miss Bramton,' returned Jack gravely, ‘I regret 
to say my business is with you. I grieve to say that your 
uncle was seriously injured in a street fray last night 
I was present, and, though I did my best, was unluckily 
too late to come to his assistance.' 

‘Uncle Dick hurt ! ' exclaimed the girl, ‘ Where is he ? 
I must go to him at once; tell me Captain Cuxwold,’ 
and the dark grey eyes looked keenly into his. 

‘It’s what I’ve come to do, Miss Bramton. Please 
be quiet, and sit down, and don’t make my task more 
difficult than it is already. Everything has been done for 
your Uncle Dick that is possible, and it would be useless 
your going to him now.' 

‘ Why not ? ' she exclaimed. ‘ He may be rough, he 
may be uncouth, but he has been the best and dearest 
uncle to me always. He has never grudged any expense 
if he thought a thing would give me pleasure. If he is 
seriously hurt, my place is at his bedside ; it is trifling 


Good-bye in Real Earnest 1 3 

with me, Captain Cuxwold, not to tell me where he i». 
No one can nurse him as well as me/ 

‘You have misunderstood me, Miss Bramton. I fear 
I am doing my errand badly. Cannot you understand, 
there are cases past all nursing ? ^ 

‘Past all nursing,’ repeated Lucy. ‘Do you mean to tell 
me,’ she continued slowly, while her eyes dilated and her 
voice dropped almost to a whisper, ‘that my uncle is deadV 

‘ Even so,’ rejoined Jack. ‘I saw him struck down with 
my own eyes — was with him to the last — and have brought 
his dying message to you.’ 

‘ Saw him struck down, sir ! ’ exclaimed the girl indig- 
nantly ; ‘ and is the man alive who dealt that felon blow, 
or is he in the hands of the police ? ’ 

‘ He has escaped justice so far, Miss Bramton,’ rejoined 
Cuxwold in low tones. 

‘ And what were you doing, sir ? Did you stand aside 
and see death dealt out to one of your countrymen 
without raising your hand ? You are a soldier, and a 
powerful man besides. It surely couldn’t be that you 
were afraid to interfere.’ 

Cuxwold’s face flushed under the undeserved taunt. 

‘ No,’ he said quietly, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘ I 
don’t think it was that. It was chance brought me and 
my friend upon the scene. Your uncle was struck down 
before we could reach him.’ 

‘ Forgive me, I feel that I have done you injustice. i 
hardly knew what I was saying. You see the shock has 
come suddenly upon me, and I loved him very dearly ; 
but I must see him. Where is he ? ’ 

‘ There is no difficulty about your seeing him. Miss 
Bramton. We watched by him through the night, and 
brought him here at daybreak. • We have laid him in his 
own room.’ 

‘Take me to him, please,’ said Lucy, still struggling 
with her tears. 

Jack Cuxwold silently conducted her to the dead man’s 
chamber, and left her on the threshold. Lucy Bramton 
walked swiftly to the bed, and gently drew back the sheet. 
One glance was sufficient. There could be no doubt 
that the destroyer had claimed her uncle. She pressed 


14 Long Odds. 

her lips to the dead man’s forehead, replaced the sheet, 
and then, falling upon her knees by the bedside, burst 
into a paroxysm of weeping. The tear-stonn did her good, 
and when some quarter of an hour later she emerged from 
the silent chamber, her face though very pale, was calm. 
Somewhat to her surprise when she entered the sitting- 
room, she found Jack Cuxwold seated there. 

‘ IVe no wish to intrude upon your grief. Miss Bramton,’ 
said Jack rising. ‘ I have only waited to tell you that I 
will do everything that is necessary about the investigation 
of this unfortunate occurrence. I will also make every 
arrangement for the funeral, which, as perhaps you are 
aware, out here will have to take place at once. I will 
say no more now, but leave you to collect your thoughts 
and think over what you wish done. When you want me, 
you will have nothing to do but to ring the bell and say 
so. I shall be somewhere about the hotel,’ and without 
waiting for the thanks which Lucy was about to proffer. 
Jack left the room. 

The investigation of the murder proceeded in the 
leisurely way characteristic of all business in the East. 
There was no clue to the assassin, and, as was pointed 
out to Cuxwold, no probability of his being discovered 
unless a large reward was offered, and as Flood, who knew 
the East well, observed cynically, ‘It will be doubtful 
whether you get the right man even then, as some of 
these fellows to obtain money would just as soon swear 
their fellows’ lives away as not.’ 

Richard Bramton was quietly laid to rest in the Eng- 
lish cemetery ; and thus terminated the tragedy which was 
destined to have a singular effect on the future of two of 
the people indirectly mixed up in it. Lucy Bramton 
naturally decided to return to England by the very next 
steamer. Jack Cuxwold took her passage, and even 
accompanied her by railway to the point of embarkation. 
As he wished her farewell on the deck of the steamer, 
Lucy said, — 

‘ I made a shameful accusation against you in the first 
moment of my agony, but I know you would make every 
allowance for a grief-stricken girl, and that you have for- 
given me. Is it not so ? ’ 


The Telegram. 1 $ 

* Pray don^t mention it,* replied Jack, * I have for- 
gotten all about it.* 

‘You have been very kind to me, and if ever you 
come into Barkshire, I hope you will let papa thank you 
for all the care you have taken of his daughter.* 

‘ I had no idea you lived in Barkshire,* said Cuxwold. 

‘ We are newcomers in the county,* replied Lucy, ‘and 
know very few people as yet. Good-bye.* 

‘ I am afraid it is good-bye in real earnest now, they*ve 
passed the word “ All for shore.** Good-bye ; I hope 
you*ll have a good passage, and next time Pm in Bark- 
shire I shall come and see you. However, I’m not 
likely to leave this country at present. Once more, good- 
bye,* and Jack pressed the little hand extended to him, 
raised his cap, and disappeared across the gangway. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE TELEGRAM. 

A LARGE suburban villa of the very best type, for such 
really is the only way to describe the house, though it 
stands many miles away from the metropolis, surrounded 
by grounds which no doubt in spring and summer were 
extremely beautiful. One could fancy the horse-chest- 
nuts, copper-coloured beeches and laburnums in all their 
glory ; the great clumps of rhododendrons and azaleas all 
ablaze; and those trim beds in the parterre, which at 
the present moment are what* the gardeners call ‘banked 
up,* glowing with brilliant flowers, borders of lobelia, 
golden chain and low scarlet geranium. But this bright 
March morning the hand of winter still holds nature 
in its grasp, and though the snowdrops and crocuses are 
beginning to peep above ground, it is as yet far too early 
for the unfolding of leaves or the song of the birds, ex- 
cept on behalf of those foolish feathered creatures who, 
like humanity, are too apt to think that one fine day 
makes a summer. 

Pacing up and down the terrace, outside the draw- 
ing-room windows, is a stout, pompous, middle-aged 
gentleman, who, with his shooting jacket thrown back, 
and his thumbs stuck into the arms of his waistcoat, is 


i6 


Long Odds. 

contemplating the grounds with an air of patronising 
approval. You can read what he thinks in his face. He 
is evidently saying to himself, ‘ Yes, you are mine, and 
pretty well up to the mark, I believe. I don’t suppose in 
all Barkshire there’s a prettier place than Temple Rising.’ 

If Mr John Bramton’s feelings could have been more 
thoroughly analysed, his reflection would have been some- 
what in this wise, — ‘ Yes, it’s a pretty place ; it’s a dooced 
good house ; they are monstrous nice grounds, and so 
they ought to be, considering I keep four gardeners to look 
after ’em. Yes, no doubt it’s a nice thing to retire, and 
to become a country gentleman, but I’m not sure whether 
the old villa at Wimbledon wasn’t better fun. I used to 
see my old friends there. Mrs B. and Matilda said they 
were vulgar. I don’t know about that. Mrs B. tells me 
I’m vulgar sometimes ; perhaps I am. I wasn’t brought 
up among Court circles. If I had been, Mrs B. might 
have been wearing silk gowns, but she’d have had to do 
it on credit most likely. Well, she and Matilda have got 
their way. Here I am, John Bramton of Temple Rising, 
and enrolled amongst the nobility and gentry of Barkshire, 
— plenty of money in my pockets, best of wine in my cellar, 
drychampagne and Madeira that I’d back to knock corners 
off anything the Right Honourable Earl of Rankesborow 
can show. Well, as I said before, here we are, here we are 
likely to remain, but the nobility and gentry of Barkshire 
don’t seem to trouble their heads about us. It’s aristo- 
cratic no doubt. We’re classed in the county blue book 
amongst the nobs, but that’s where it is ; we’re not classed 
among them anywhere else. It’s aristocratic, as I said 
before, but it’s devilish dull, and what’s worse, Mrs B. is 
always reminding me of that fact. She blows me up about 
it, as if I could make people call as when I was in the dry 
goods’ business. We put our best goods in the window, 
and if that didn’t fetch customers we couldn’t help it 
Now, one can’t do that socially. If I got up a tableau of 
Matilda in her best frock, and a small table at her right 
hand containing a vase of hothouse roses, and a bottle 
of that extra dry champagne, and put it in the dining- 
room window, nobody would see it ; and I don’t think I 
should quite like to propose it to Matilda. She has a soul 


The Telegram, IJ 

above trade, and could never be brought to see the beauty 
of a good advertisement/ 

John Bramton had made a very considerable fortune 
in a wholesale dry goods^ business in the city. A wary 
man always, when he began to find business irksome to 
him, he resolved to retire. He had seen too many of his 
compeers, who, under similar circumstances, had elected 
to remain in their firms as sleeping partners abandoning the 
guidance of the ship to other hands, and the result bring 
utter shipwreck in the course of a few years. When he left 
the helm, he resolved to have no further share in the cargo. 
He retired to his villa at Wimbledon, and enjoyed himself 
immensely, running into the city constantly to have a crack 
with his old friends, and frequently bringing home stout, 
plethoric, middle-aged gentlemen to dinner. 

But this by- no means suited the ambitious views of 
Mrs Bramton and her eldest daughter. As for Lucy, the 
youngest, as her mother and sister continually told her, 
she was a poor, mean-spirited little wretch, who had no 
proper pride or self-respect. Mrs Bramton panted to 
mix in county society, to give garden parties to which the 
Hite of the neighbourhood would be only to anxious to 
attend. We know the old story, ‘ Water wears away the 
stone, and a woman’s tongue by degrees will vanquish a 
man’s will.’ In utter defiance of his own judgment, John 
Bramton sold the snug villa at Wimbledon in which the 
late prosperous days of his life had been passed, and in- 
vested in the far more pretentious manor of Temple Rising. 

‘John, John, here’s a telgram just come for you,’ ex- 
claimed a stout, very dressy lady, appearing at one of the 
French windows opening on to the terrace; ‘ and have you 
taken any steps about what I told you ? ’ 

‘ Perhaps you wouldn’t mind being a little more explicit 
You see, my dear, you tell me a good many things.’ 

‘ Now, don’t be aggravating ; you know what I mean. 
You must get appointed one of the magistrates of the 
county. I insist on your being on the bench.’ 

‘It’s all very well, Margaret,’ replied John Bramton, 
‘ but I can’t appoint myself, and what’s more, it would 
not be quite the advantage you expect it to be. Where 
IS this telegram ? ’ 


B 


1 8 Long Odds, 

‘ Don’t talk nonsense, John. In attending to your magis- 
terial duties,’ continued the lady with great pomposity, 
‘you would make the acquaintance of all the leading 
people on this side the county. There’s the Earl of 
Ranksborow, why he lives only four miles from us.’ 

‘Just so, Margaret; but these nobs have a way with 
them,’ replied John Bramton, as he stepped through the 
window and took the telegram from his wife’s hand 
‘ They would know me on the bench, but not off it.’ 

As he spoke he tore open the orange envelope, and 
suddenly exclaimed, — 

‘ Good heavens ! it’s from Lucy. Poor Dick is dead, 
and she’s coming home by the next steamer. Poor fel- 
low ! we haven’t seen much of each other of late years. 
Our ways were so very different.’ 

‘Well, I am very sorry for your brotherj John, but I 
must say the peculiar language he was wont to indulge in 
always did jar upon my nerves.’ 

‘Poor Uncle Dick,’ observed a showy, fashionably 
dressed young lady, who was seated in a low chair by the 
fire, as she laid down the book she was reading ; ‘ he was 
dreadfully slangy, and it always puzzled me how Lucy 
could like going abroad with him. However, he was 
very kind-hearted.* 

‘ Poor Dick, he was as kind a fellow as ever stepped,’ 
said John Bramton. ‘As for his talk, well I suppose it 
was the slang of his business. Never understood any- 
thing about racing myself, though, mind you, I have 
been to the Derby. Now, you needn’t look, Mrs B. 
’Twas many years ago, long before I was married. The 
only thing I remember about it is that I came home 
with a broken hat and a false nose. 

‘ Uncle Dick’s death must have been very sudden,’ re- 
marked Miss Bramton. ‘ In her last letter, Lucy described 
him as being so much better, and having quite lost his 
cough. The telegram, I suppose, tells you nothing, papa. 

‘ It only says this : “ Uncle Dick died suddenly ; am 
coming home by next steamer; particulars by mail.” 
The chances are Lucy will be here almost as soon as her 
letter.’ 

‘There ought to be a bit of money come your way. 


The Telegranu 19 

John. I should say your brother was a well-to-do man; 
and he has nobody but you to leave it to.’ 

‘ Goodness knows, my dear,’ replied John Bram ton. ‘I 
never understood that trade of his ; but it’s lightly come 
lightly go with all those racing fellows ; their pockets are 
full to-day and empty to-morrow. No need to speculate 
to what poor Dick has left behind him or where it goes.’ 

That the dead man’s had been as much a business as 
his own was a thing you couldn’t possibly have got into 
John Bramton’s head. In his mind there was no differ- 
ence between a racecourse and the tables at Monte 
Carlo. He really was as ignorant about turf matters as 
it was possible for any man in England to be ; and that 
visit to Epsom, when he was quite a young man, was 
the sole instance of his ever being present at a race 
meeting. He had always regarded his brother as a per- 
fectly unbusinesslike man, upon no other grounds than 
that he got his living ip a way utterly unintelligible to 
him, John Bramton ; and he honestly thought that the 
probabilities were the deceased had made no will, and 
left next to nothing behind him. 

But the family at Temple Rising were destined to be 
still more astonished when the post brought in the even- 
ing paper. It had never occurred to the Bramtons that 
Uncle Richard was a celebrity in his way; on the con- 
trary, he was a relative of whom, if anything, they were a 
little ashamed; and both John Bramton and his wife, 
especially the lady, had always treated Richard in a more 
or less patronising way. Their astonishment w^as bound- 
less when, upon opening the Glohe^ they read the follow- 
ing telegram, dated Cairo : — 

‘ We regret to announce the death here, under most 
melancholy circumstances, of Mr Richard Bramton, a 
gentleman well know in turf circles, and who, from the ex- 
traordinary good fortune which attended him on the race- 
course, had acquired the sobriquet of “ Lucky Dick Bram- 
ton.” The deceased gentleman, it seems, had found 
his way into one of those low gambling-houses, which, 
to our everlasting disgrace, are still permitted to exist in 
this city. It seems 2i fracas arose, in the course of which 
some of the foreigners used their knives freely, and the un- 


20 


Long Odds, 

fortunate gentleman was so fatally stabbed that he expired 
of his wounds within the hour. The event is calculated 
to create great excitement in sporting circles. ‘The de- 
ceased was the owner, though fortunately not the nomin- 
ator of Damocles for his numerous engagements, and this 
dark youngster has the reputation of being a two-year-old 
very much above the common.^ 

‘Well,’ said John Bramton, ‘upon my word, it’s very 
handsome of this newspaper fellow to mention poor Dick 
in that manner, although, perhaps, on the whole, it would 
have been better if he had not referred to where his death 
took place ! Murdered, poor fellow 1 God bless me ! what 
else could he expect, going into such a den as that. Poor 
Dick, he always was venturesome, and never could resist 
gambling. It’s a bad business, a bad business.’ 

‘It must have been a very unpleasant business for Lucy,’ 
chimed in Miss Bramton. ‘How dreadful for her, poor girl, 
to be mixed up in such a horrible story.’ 

‘ Now, look here, Matilda,’ said her father, ‘ what do you 
mean by “mixed up?” You don’t suppose Lucy went 
with her uncle to that den, do you ? ’ 

‘ I’m sure I don’t know,’ replied Miss Bramton with a 
^oss of her head. 

John Bramton was persistently snubbed by his wife and 
eldest daughter, and as a rule bore it meekly ; but there 
was one thing which they knew by experience invariably 
provoked retaliation on his part, and that was any abuse 
of Lucy, John Bramton was very fond of his youngest 
child, and never failed to take up the cudgels on her be- 
half, although too easy-going a man to do so on his own. 
A day or two more, and, not a little to his surprise, Mr 
Bramton received a letter from Messrs Drysdel and Pecker, 
solicitors, informing him that they were the legal advisers 
of Richard Bramton, and requesting to know if he had re- 
ceived any confirmation of the death of their client, add- 
ing that they knew no more than what was reported in 
the papers ; but that, upon making inquiry at the office of 
the journal in which the original paragraph had appeared, 
they had been informed that the intelligence had been 
cabled home by an old and trusted correspondent, and 
that the editor felt no doubt as to its accuracy. 


21 


Dick Bramton's Will. 

' * Vou may depend upon it, John,’ exclaimed Mrs Bram- 
ton when she heard of this letter, ‘ tliat he has left property 
behind him. A man who has solicitors is sure to be a 
man of substance, and, of course, they communicate with 
you as -the next-of kin.’ 

‘ You are rather hasty in your conclusions, Mrs B.,’ re- 
plied her husband. ‘ Bankrupt firms usually have solicitors. 
I could fancy poor Dick perpetually wanting a lawyer to 
get him out of some hobble or other.’ 

Now this, again, was a perfectly unwairantable assump- 
tion ®n the part of the elder brother. He had never 
heard of Dick being in a scrape of any kind ; but, in his 
complete ignorance of the mysteries of a trainer’s calling, 
he looked upon him as one of those who habitually occu- 
pied a delicate position with regard to the police. How- 
ever, of course, he replied to the letter of Messrs Drysdel 
and Pecker, informing them that ^ he had had a telegram 
from his daughter which confirmed the news of her uncle’s 
death, that Miss Brampton was on her way home, and was 
expected at Temple Rising in a few days. His answer 
produced another letter from Messrs Drysdel and Pecker, 
in which they briefly requested to be immediately apprised 
of that young lady’s arrival. 

‘ Suspicious chaps these lawyers ; must have evidence 
that poor Dick is dead. I suppose he fancies that Lucy 
can swear to it’ 

CHAPTER IV. 

DICK BRAMTON’s will. 

There was a ringing of bells, and a sound as if a tornado 
had swept through the house, when about a week later 
Lucy Bramton, in deep mourning, drove up to the door 
of Temple Rising. It was not in the least that this osten- 
tatious style of arrival accorded with Lucy’s ideas, but her' 
father and mother had no notion of paying servitors for 
nothing. If the man at the lodge didn’t make the bell 
peal again, and thereby give due notice to the outside 
world that there were visitors at Temple Rising ; if the 
butler did not throw open the door with a crash, and 
make the very walls resound with the name of those 


22 


Long Odds. 

visitors ; if the very footmen did not in some way contiive 
to pervade the very stairs with the intelligence that Mr 
and Mrs So-knd-so had do7ie themselves the honour to call 
at Temple Rising, they were of no account, and useless in 
the eyes of Mr and Mrs Bramton. No people these to con- 
ceal their light under a bushel ; and if perchance a duke 
or very much minor light of the peerage should deign to 
call upon them, they were most distinctly of opinion that it 
would be good for all Barkshire to know it Poor Lucy, 
terribly shocked at the tragedy which, so to speak, had 
taken place almost under her own eyes, would have crept 
quietly enough into her own home, if she could have done 
so, but the henchmen of Temple Rising were much too 
well trained for anything of this kind, and before she could 
clasp her mother’s neck, the name of Miss Lucy Bramton 
was sounded through hall and corridor, and neither the 
Grand Duchess of Russia, nor the heiress of that mythical 
monarch Prester John, could have been announced with 
greater fa7ifare of trumpets. ‘ Miss Lucy Bramton 1 Miss 
Lucy Bramton ! ’ resounds through hall and staircase, and 
then the slight girlish figure in black is sobbing on the breast 
of a middle-aged, bald-headed, prosaic-looking gentleman. 

‘ Very, very glad to see you back my dear ! ^ exclaimed 
John Bramton. ‘It has no doubt been a terrible shock 
to you and poor Dick. Well, of course, we always knew 
he carried on anyhow, but I never thought he wouli 
make an end of it that way/ 

‘ Once for all, father, understand this,^ exclaimed the 
girl, rapidly releasing herself from his embrace, and draw- 
ing her slender figure up to its full height, ‘ I will listen 
to no reflections against Uncle Dick. He might be rough, 
but he was ever to me the kindest and most indulgent 
of relations ; not a whim or caprice of mine that he 
would not indulge. You are a kind and a dear father to 
me, but even you have never humoured me in the way 
poor Uncle Dick used. How he got into that wretched 
place, how he met his doom, I can't think. I, at all 
events, can bear to hear no stones thrown at his memory. 
I know what mother is, I know what Matilda is, let them 
think as they like, but please, please father, let them say 
nothing against Uncle Dick's memory before me.’ 


Dick BramtorHs Will. 


23 

‘No, no; certainly not, my dear. I’ll tell your mother, 
and I’ll speak to Matilda. They sha’n’t trouble you, my 
pet,’ and then John Bramton inwardly wondered what 
deference to his prohibition would be accorded by that 
dictatorial wife of his. 

‘ It was an awful shock for me when they told me he 
was dead. He left me after dinner, as he said, to smoke 
a cigar, as he had done scores of times before. What in- 
duced him to go to the villainous den at which he met his 
death, I can’t say. I have been abroad with him often, and 
feel sure it was contrary to his usual habits ; but he’s gone. 
I kissed his dear face, and I can’t bear to hear anything 
said against him. Let it be, father. He has gone ; what- 
ever his faults might have been, don’t let me hear of them.’ 

‘Quite right, my child, quite right,’ said John Bramton, 
gently patting the head that nestled on his shoulder. ‘I’ll 
do my best, but you are aware that your mother, and, I may 
say, even Matilda are a little trying under these circum- 
stances. Good woman, your mother, very good woman, 
but she will speak her mind, you know ; and Matilda, well 
Matilda takes a little bit after her mamma. I will do my 
best. I will speak to them ; but bless you, Lucy, you know 
when your mamma is “ on the rampage ” she can’t hold 
her tongue ; and I wouldn’t say a word against Matilda 
for the world ; but whenever she marries, I think her hus- 
band will come pretty much to the same conclusion. 
Good women both, my dear, but rather free of speech.’ 

The third morning after Lucy’s return was signalised by 
the arrival at Temple Rising of Mr Pecker, junior partner 
of the firm of Drysdel and Pecker. He was cordially wel- 
comed by Mr Bramton in the first instance, and at once 
proceeded to unfold the object of his errand. 

‘ We have acted for some years as the legal advisers of 
the late Mr Richard Bramton. We made his will, which is 
dated some five years back. It is very simple, and to the 
best of our belief perfectly incontestable in any court of law. 
The deceased gentleman was an excellent man of business.’ 

‘What!’ exclaimed John Bramton; ‘Dick a man of 
business I Nonsense 1 don’t tell me.’ 

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. 

‘ Ah/ he said, ‘I see ; like many other people you’re 


24 Long Odds. 

under the delusion that racing men are not men of busi- 
ness. You are wrong; professional racing men are about 
the most astute men of business I ever come in contact 
with. I have considerable experience of them, and re- 
member, I draw a great distinction between racing men 
and men who go racing.' 

‘ Well, to hear that poor Dick was a man of business 
beats me,' said John Bramton, evidently in utter amaze- 
ment at the bare idea. 

‘ You must take my word for it,' said Mr Pecker smiling. 

‘ You will perhaps also be surprised to hear that he was 
a man of considerable property. As the greater part of 
his securities are deposited in our hands, and as we 
possess a list of those which he thought fit to keep at his 
bankers, we can speak confidently on this point. Mr 
Richard Bramton has left behind him about five-and- 
thirty thousand pounds, besides his racing stud. What 
that may be worth, I have no conception. I have no 
knowledge of such matters. 

‘ Five-and-thirty thousand pounds!' exclaimed John 
Bramton. ‘ Why I should never have given Dick credit 
for as many hundreds ; and who has he left it all too? ' 

‘ He has left everything, the horses included, to his 
niece. Miss Lucy Bramton, and you are appointed sole ex- 
ecutor. I have brought the will with me for you to read ; 
it's very brief, and cannot well be simpler, with the ex- 
ception of this codicil ; and about this, I must tell you. 
I’m not quite sure. It says, as you will see,' and Mr 
Pecker pointed to the place, ‘quite clearly that the 
horses are to be run through their engagements. This, 
as far as I understand, means that Miss Lucy cannot 
dispose of the stud till such engagements as have been 
made for the various horses have been decided. Who- 
ever has charge of them will, I presume, advise her how 
to manage on that point; but it is open to question 
whether she has the power of selling them before their 
engagements have expired.' 

‘You are aware, Mr Pecker, that my daughter is a 
minor, that I consequently am her natural trustee, and 
that what is to be done with those horses will therefore 
rest in my hands ; and I tell you what it is, sir, I don’t 


Dick Bramtoris Will. 


25 

want any time to decide. I know nothing about race- 
horses, and don’t want to. I’m not going to take to 
gambling at my time of life. Those horses go to the 
hammer before six weeks are over our heads.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ said Mr Pecker, putting his head rather on 
one side, ‘ this gives rise to the rather curious question 
of whether you’ve the power to act in this way. There 
is no doubt about the body of the will ; but our late client, 
just before starting on his last unfortunate trip to Egypt, 
had his will, together with some other papers, back for a 
night, and has added this codicil himself without con- 
sultation with us. It is a delicate and most interesting 
point to know whether that codicil implies a wish, or 
imposes a condition.’ 

‘ Condition, nonsense,’ exclaimed Mr Bramton. ‘You 
can’t make it a condition that I’m to keep an expensive 
lot of animals that I don’t want’ 

‘ Oh, yes, my dear sir ; excuse me, that’s quite possible. 
Old ladies are very apt to provide for favourite cats in 
that way. As I told you, I’m not quite prepared to say 
the codicil does that You will have to take counsel’s 
opinion on it if necessary ; but as you are acting for your 
daughter, and I can’t suppose that Miss Lucy would have 
any desire to keep on her uncle’s stud unless she was ob- 
liged, it would be possible perhaps to treat it as merely 
a wish ; and then, my deafr sir, it becomes a matter of 
simply what deference you mean to pay to the desire 
of your deceased brother.’ 

‘.Don’t put it in that way,’ exclaimed Mr Bramton. 
‘ Of course I am anxious to do everything that poor 
Dick wished, but he never could have intended that 
either Lucy or myself were to take to horse-racing. Now 
come into the other room, and have some lunch.’ 

‘In a few minutes, Mr Bramton, with pleasure; but I 
shouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t personally read 
and explain this will to Miss Lucy. It won’t take five 
minutes, if you will only be good enough to fetch 
her.’ 

John Bramton rose, and speedily returned, accompanied 
by his younger daughter. He had briefly explained the 
fortune she had come in to, and what she was wanted for. 


26 


Long Odds. 

Mr Pecker, on being introduced to her, wasted no time, 
but proceeded at once to business. He read the will 
through, codicil and all, and briefly explained to her the 
doubt which existed in his mind as to which way the 
codicil was to be regarded, whether as a wish or a condi- 
tion, winding up with the remark, ‘ But as this is a matter 
that lies between you and your father, it is hardly likely 
to be called into question.* He then briefly congratulated 
her on her inheritance, looked at his watch, and said, — 

‘ And now, Mr Bramton, if you can, give me something 
to eat. IVe just twenty minutes to spare before starting 
for the railway station.* 

Lucy had made no comment upon the will, except to 
acknowledge the lawyer*s congratulations. She had hardly 
opened her lips, but for all that, she had listened very atten- 
tively to what Mr Pecker had said to her, more especially 
with regard to that strange codicil. To say that she had 
come to any resolve concerning it would be absurd. She 
did not exactly comprehend as yet what it meant. All 
she knew was this, that the colt called Damocles was one 
of her uncle’s most cherished possessions, and that his 
dying message had commended Damocles to her care. 

About this period it suddenly dawned upon Her 
Majesty’s Government that a person called the Mahdi 
was about to occasion trouble in Upper Egypt. Her 
Majesty’s Government, with that grand geographical 
ignorance that usually characterises it, whether Liberal 
or Conservative, suddenly awoke to the fact that a place 
called Khartoum was rather an important city in those 
parts which it behoved them to hold. Her Majesty’s 
Government, furthermore, became somehow aware that 
a person of the name of Gordon had more knowledge 
of those parts than anyone living. Further, that the 
said Gordon was an officer of considerable distinction, 
and that, if there was anything to be done in the way of 
saving Khartoum, this was the man to do it. Govern- 
ment, not particularly clear about what the especial object 
was in saving Khartoum ; not in fact very clear about 
the Soudan and Upjier Egypt generally, but hazily aware 
that the Mahdi promised to be an uncomfortable fact in 
the case, and give trouble generally, at last gave Gordon 


Dick BramtorCs WilL 27 

a roving commission to do as he thought best for the 
pacification of the Soudan, and then, after the usual 
manner of British Governments, having picked out the 
very best man for the work, proceeded to tie his hands 
in all possible directions. They took no notice of what 
he demanded, although he made his way promptly to 
Khartoum ; informed them at once that it was the key of 
the Soudan, and that as long as he held that, let what 
wild work might go on in the desert, he was the virtual 
ruler of the country. Government read his despatches, 
said, ‘ We have bombarded Alexandria, put down Arabi, 
taken Cairo ; good, it will be time enough now to see 
about Egypt in another year or two.’ Letter after letter, 
despatch after despatch, came from the grand soldier who 
had taken upon himself this terrible burden. The errand 
which the Government had sent him on they now sought 
to repudiate. They tried to make out that his mission 
had been of his own seeking ; but the gathering roar of 
the British public at last convinced them that they stood 
bound to fall by the man they had virtually sent to 
grapple with the insurrection of the Soudan. 

By this time all England was aware that Chinese Gordon 
was shut up in Khartoum, and was defending himself 
against swarms of fanatical Arabs. Closely beleaguered 
though he was, he managed to get despatch after despatch 
through his myriad foes; and those short pithy despatches 
never varied in their tenor. ‘ I can hold my own,’ he 
invariably said, ‘ till the end of December ; that passed, we 
shall be destitute of food, and I can guarantee no more.’ 
Months still intervening between this and December, but 
the heat of summer having commenced, and the fall of 
the Nile having begun, it suddenly occurred to the 
Government that, however late it might be for an expedi- 
tion of this kind, the irritation of the British public must 
be appeased. Utterly deaf to the man they had doomed 
to destruction, the Government yielded to the political 
outcry of the country, and summoning all the military 
experts to their councils, debated as to how Khartoum 
might be most speedily relieved. That they had pro- 
bably hit upon the best device to achieve that result is 
possible ; we only know two things, they were too late, 


28 


Long Odds. 

and they did not take the route which Gordon, who might 
be supposed to know something about it, advised. 

All this discussion and turmoil as to the relief expedi- 
tion took place just after Lucy Bramton had come into 
her inheritance. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE HELIOTROPE, 

A VERY lively club w^as the Heliotrope, much given to 
baccarat, poker, and divers games at times not recognised 
at clubs of greater stability, — one of those mushroom 
night clubs that spring up and are wont to have the 
mushroom^s ephemeral existence. All London, that is the 
ten or twelve thousand people who consider themselves 
all London, would have unanimously admitted that, to 
put it mildly, the members of the Heliotrope were a 
‘ lively lot.* It was a club wnth no architectural preten- 
sions whatever ; indeed the three hundred members who 
constituted it contented themselves with a roomy first floor 
off the Strand. The club, indeed, practically consisted of 
three rooms ; the supper-room, card-room and kitchen. 
There was mugh discussion, scandal and tobacco going on 
in the supper-room one evening, when a studious member, 
who had pulled himself together and devoted himself to 
the mastery of the evening papers, suddenly exclaimed, — 
‘ Hallo, Dart, here’s something will interest you ! * 
‘Very glad to hear it,* replied a tall, good-looking young 
fellow about thirty. ‘ It*s such a godsend when anything 
does, considering the awful way in which those fellows 
down at St Stephen’s bore us. Can’t conceive myself 
what makes the governor so persistent about my going 
in for representing the county. Suppose he suffered 
from it himself in his youth, and thinks it a wholesome 
chastisement for his first-born. What’s your news ? If 
you’ve found anything in that paper, drawl it out..’ 

‘Only this,’ replied the speaker, ‘Dick Bramton has 
got wiped out in a gambling-house row at Cairo; and 
considering your father snapped all the yearling books 
about Damocles when the colt was solc^ I thought it 
might interest you.* 


The Heliotrope. 29 

‘ Interest me, by Jove! I should think it did!’ said 
Lord Dartree. ‘ I took twenty thousand to three hundred 
about Damocles once, and the governor took it as often 
as he could get it. In fact, between us we captured every 
yearling book there was going. Damocles is entered in 
the name of his breeder, so that’s all right; but what 
becomes of him is quite another matter. Dick Bramton 
would have run him as straight as a die. He is an old 
racing pal of the governor’s, and knew he could have any 
fair share of the plunder that he chose to stipulate for.’ 

‘ He’ll most likely be sold now, I should think,’ ob- 
served Anson, the gentleman who had read out the news. 

‘ Suppose he will,’ rejoined Lord Dartree. ‘ I must try 
and persuade the governor to buy him, though how the 
deuce we are to lay our hands on ten thousand pounds, 
or whatever it is they want for him. I’m blest if I know. 
We have got partridges, we have got stabling, we have 
got gardens, and no end of a. library at Knightshayes, but, 
my dear Anson, we haven’t got any money. Everybody 
knows that the agricultural interest has gone to the devil, 
and that your big landowners are merely genteel paupers.’ 

‘ Only wish I was one of you genteel paupers, too,’ 
said Anson, who was one of those extraordinary young 
gentlemen who had knocked about town for years, and 
couldn’t if he tried have explained to his dearest friend 
how he did it; but he had one of those elastic minds, 
that was equally prepared to ‘discuss with his friends 
the raising of ten thousand pounds or a five-pound note. 
In fact, in his more volatile moments, he had been known 
to say that ‘ it was the insignificance of the sum required 
that made the difficulty. You see,’ he would continue, 
‘ when you want a few hundreds, and your name is well 
known about London, the money-lenders can’t believe 
but what there is some prospect of your paying ; but when 
you go to them for dribblets, they want to know what office 
you’re in, or some rot of that sort. Dribblets are con- 
nected with clerkships ; hundreds with visionary incomes.’ 

‘ It’s a deuce of a bore,’ said Lord Dartree. ‘ From all I 
hear, this is an uncommon smart colt, and the governor 
stands to win over a hundred thousand pounds on him. 
Now, if he’s put up for sale, it’s as likely as not that he will be 


30 Long Odds. 

bought by the very men who laid the money, under which 
circumstances it is not likely he’ll win the Derby next year.’ 

‘No,’ said Anson, ‘it’s hardly likely they’ll win the 
race for the pleasure of paying you all this money One 
don’t know but the probability is the horse will be put 
up for sale. Pretty sure to be, unless there is racing stock 
in the family; and I always understood that old Dick 
Bramton had neither chick nor child ; never heard he had 
a relation of any kind. Nobody knows much about him. 
But he began life as a stable lad, didn’t he ? ’ 

‘ Something of that sort,’ said Lord Dartree ; ‘ don’t 
know exactly, but he could always win races when he 
meant business. The governor’s no fool ; and when he 
found out that Bramton had bought the colt, he went to 
him at once, and said point blank, “ I have got all the 
yearling books about Damocles for the Derby. My risk, 
not yours at present. You have nothing to do but to tell 
me at the end of his two-year-old career how much you 
would like of them, and you will find me quite reasonable.’ 

‘ And what did he say ? ’ asked Anson. 

‘ All right, my lord,’ was his reply. ‘ If the colt turns 
out as good as he looks, you will have a rare run for 
your money.’ 

‘It’s uncertain property to invest in, a two-year-old 
that has never run,’ remarked Anson ; ‘ but then people 
wouldn’t lay such liberal odds if there was not all the un- 
certainty about it. You’ll have to buy the colt if you can, 
or else come to some arrangement with his new owner.’ 

‘ I suppose so,’ replied Lord Dartree. ‘ It’s a great 
bore. Can’t understand a man like Dick Bramton get- 
ting into such a scrape. Should have thought him too 
clever a man to play against the tables.’ 

‘You might have known better than that,’ laughed 
Anson. ‘ Who know better the folly of backing horses 
than the bookmakers, and yet they do it at times.’ 

‘ True,’ replied Dartree, ‘ we all deride the idea when 
in London of playing against the tables, but as soon as 
we get to Monte Carlo we feel bound to try our luck.’ 

‘Well, what becomes of Damocles must interest you 
much. Still if anyone can rise to the occasion, it is your 
noble father.’ 


The Heliotrope, 3 1 

‘ Why, that is just what I tell you he can’t,’ retorted 
Dartree irritably. ‘ You may know what to do, and not 
be able to do it. This is a question of money, and that 
is exactly what I have told you the noble house of 
Ranksborow has not.’ 

‘ No,’ said Anson quietly ; ‘ but Lord Ranksborow is a 
man of infinite resources, more especially on the turf. 
It’s very easy to do most things with money, but it takes 
a clever man to attain his ends without. Now I have a 
very high opinion of your father’s talents in his own line ; 
indeed in any line, years ago, he showed in the House of 
Lords what he could do, and before that, in the House 
of Commons, as Lord Dartree, was pronounced one of 
the most promising young ones out. But he cut politics 
for racing, and, as we all know, is as good a judge as any 
man on the turf.’ 

‘ Well,’ rejoined Lord Dartree, ‘ he has a great oppor- 
tunity now for exercising his faculties, and by hook or 
by crook acquiring the control of Damocles. Buy the 
colt he can’t, unless they are willing to sell on tick, which 
is not at all likely.’ 

‘ No,’ rejoined Anson, ‘ there’s not much of that in 
horse-dealing ; still I’ve great confidence in your father, 
and only wish I had a bit of your book, for though the 
colt has never run, I doubt a good man laying you half 
the odds now.’ 

But if the members of the Heliotrope were fluttered 
at the news of the death of Dick Bramton, it made a 
much more considerable stir down at Newmarket. 
Stubber the trainer was simply, to use his own expres- 
sion, ‘flabbergasted.’ Even his intimate friends, who 
really were as much puzzled and disappointed about the 
affair as himself, could not refrain from laughing at Mr 
Stubber’s melancholy refrain of ‘What’s to become of the 
bosses ? ’ He discussed the affair with them from every 
point of view ; he vowed that Damocles was the speediest 
yearling he ever tried; and look at the blood, too, by 
Tyrant out of Packthread; the Tyrants always stay. 
He eulogised the dead man, and said, ‘ There were few 
shrewder men on a racecourse than Mr Bramton. Why 
he’d have won a fortune with this colt ; and now I should 


32 Long Odds. 

just like to know what’s to become of the bosses ? It^s 
cruel I’ve never had the luck to train the winner of the 
Derby yet, and I did think I should do it next year.’ 

The curiosity to know how Dick Bramton had disposed 
of his property was very great at Newmarket, but none of his 
friends there seemed to be aware that he had had a brother. 
In fact, though they might be supposed to be better in- 
formed about the dead man’s family than the members of 
the ‘ Heliotrope,’ they seemed equally ignorant that he 
had either kith or kin belonging to him. Still it is so 
rarely that a man stands utterly alone in this world, 
that they all supposed his property would go to some dis- 
tant relation ; but on one point they were unanimous, and 
in response to the trainer’s dolorous question, rejoined 
that the horses would come to the hammer. Cold com- 
fort all this for Sam Stubber, who really was honestly 
wrapped up in his charge. He was a conscientious man, 
and thoroughly to be trusted, or he never would have been 
employed by Dick Bramton. He was a man of much 
experience, and though perhaps somewhat sanguine, quite 
understood how to try a horse. They had very good 
trying tackle in the stable, and as far as it was possible 
to test a colt of the age of DamocleSj Mr Staples had done 
so, and with very satisfactory results. In fact, as he told 
his intimates, he had never tried a youngster so high in 
his life, and the thought that his favourite would be pro- 
bably taken out of his charge was gall and wormwood to 
him ; and of course it was probable that whoever bought 
Damocles would transfer the horse to his own staWe. 
Still at present he heard nothing from anybody on this 
point, and at this Mr Stubber and his friends mar- 
velled greatly. What could be- the meaning of it ? Could 
Richard Bramton have died intestate, and were they 
searching for his heir, or had he died insolvent ? He had 
made no doubt a good bit of money on the turf, but then 
there was the manner of his death — killed in a gambling- 
house ; and no people knew better than the Newmarket 
men how quickly it is possible to knock down any amount 
of turf winnings in houses of that description. The rooms 
at Newmarket, like those at Doncaster, had been wont to 
give instructive lessons on that point In the meantime 


The Heliotrope. 33 

the spring was drawing on. The Two Thousand was a 
thing of the past, and the New Stakes at Ascot had been 
selected for the debut of Damocles, when one morning, 
after returning from the Heath with his charges, Mr 
Stubber was informed there was a gentleman in the 
parlour who had arrived from London and wished to see 
him. Sam Stubber at once went into the room, found his 
visitor gazing in an absent way out of the window, and 
invited him to join him at breakfast. 

‘ I shall be very glad,^ replied the latter. ‘ The morning 
air gives one an appetite, and we can discuss our business 
over it as well as anywhere. I must at once introduce 
myself as Mr Pecker, of the firm of Drysdel and Pecker, 
solicitors. I have come down to see you about the racing 
stud of our late client, Mr Richard Bramton.’ 

‘ Well, Mr Pecker, Pm right glad to see you, though I 
am afraid you bring no good news for me. What’s to 
become of those bosses has been a sore puzzle to me. 
I suppose they’re to be sold, and I should very much 
like to know who’ll buy two or three of ’em.’ 

‘ Well, we’ve got no immediate instructions about them,’ 
replied Mr Pecker ; ‘ but I should suppose that would be 
their destiny, as far as we can guess. What I’ve come 
down here for is to make out a list of what horses there 
actually are, and to ask you to give me a rough valuation 
of them.’ 

‘ And whose property are they at this minute ? ’ inquired 
Mr Stubber. 

‘ That,’ replied the attorney, ‘ I am not at liberty to 
mention, and it’s possible you will never know. They 
will be sold as the property of the late Mr Richard Bram- 
ton ; and how he has disposed of his personal property is, 
I take it, of not very much consequence to anyone.’ 

‘ Before I say anything about the valuation, Mr Pecker,’ 
rejoined the trainer, ‘ I should like to ask you when you 
think of selling these horses, because that would make 
a difference.’ 

‘ Oh, I see,’ rejoined the lawyer, ‘ some times are more 
favourable for that sort of thing than others.’ 

‘Just so,’ replied Mr Stubber; ‘ the most valuable horse, 
I reckon, in Mr Bramton’s stud, is a two-year-old called 

C 


34 Long Odds, 

Damocles. Now you can dispose of him, no doubt, fur a 
good round sum by private contract ; on the other hand, 
you can run him for the New Stakes at Ascot in about 
three weeks’ time, — a race that he’s pretty certain to win, 
and which if he does win easily, will considerably increase 
his value.’ 

‘And which , course should you recommend, Mr 
Stubber ? ’ 

‘That must' depend upon what sort of a man the 
present owner is. In the first method of disposing of 
the colt there is no risk, in the second there is. The 
youngsters in the New Stakes are mostly dark, and there 
may be one, though I don’t think it, too good for us. If 
Damocles got badly beat, the gilt would be off the ginger- 
bread. Then there are the chances of training. Damocles 
is as sound as a roach, but legs will go, and bosses give 
trouble when least expected. If his new owner’s a sports- 
man, he’ll run him,’ and Mr Stubber cast an inquiring look 
at the lawyer. 

‘ I’m sure I can’t say about that,’ replied Mr Pecker, 
with an amazed look. ‘ I can only report what you tell 
me to my client. I don’t understand anything about 
these things myself.’ 

‘ Then perhaps, sir, you wouldn’t care to go round the 
stables ? ’ 

‘ On the contrary, if not against all rules, that is pre- 
cisely what I should like to do,’ rejoined Pecker. 

‘ Then come along,’ said Mr Stubber, ‘ and I’ll show 
you Damocles, and all the rest of ’em.’ 

Mr Pecker was excessively pleased with all he saw, and 
when introduced to Damocles, a lengthy dark chesnut 
colt, with thighs let down like a greyhound’s, not only 
expressed the greatest admiration for him, but was so per- 
tinent in his remarks about his shape, that the gratified 
Mr Stubber, when he bade the lawyer good-bye, said, — 

‘Well, sir, you may know nothing about racing, but you 
do know a good boss when you see one.’ 


A Delicate Commission. 


35 


CHAPTER VI. 

A DELICATE COMMISSION, 

‘ It’s all very well, J ohn, but you must exert yourself. Other 
folks have to do it when they go into a new neighbour- 
hood. You must make acquaintances ; people must be 
made to call. You’ve dragged us down here to Temple 
Rising — ’ 

‘ Upon my soul, Mrs Bramton, I like that,’ interrupted 
her husband. ‘ Dragged you down here, indeed, when the 
old villa at Wimbledon was quite good enough for me. 
You would have me set up as a country gentleman ; you 
said it was more genteel. It strikes me we are not quite 
genteel enough for the people round here — ’ 

‘ Pooh, nonsense ! ’ rejoined Mrs Bramton ; ‘ they may 
be very great swells, but they’re a poor lot. As far as I 
can make out, there’s very few of them drive such carriages 
as I do. I’m sure you could buy most of them up. Even 
Lord Ranksborow, who has never deigned to take the 
slightest notion of us, I am told is as hard up as anyone. 
You surely might scrape acquaintance with him.’ 

‘ I tell you it’s impossible ; it’s not the thing, you know, 
for us to call first. I did tread upon his toe at that 
meeting about the flower show, and then apologise, and 
remark it was a fine day. I took off my hat to him 
quite affable the next time we met, but. Lord ! he only 
just touched his, and evidently didn’t recognise me in 
the slightest degree.’ 

‘Now what did I tell you, John, were my reasons for 
buying a country place ? Simply, I said, to get the girls well 
married. You’ve lots of money, John; now what do the 
girls want ? — blood and position.’ 

‘ Ah ! I know,’ returned her husband, ‘ this blue blood 
they’re always talking about ; but I don’t know where they 
sell it, or how to buy it.’ 

‘ Don’t talk nonsense 1 ’ returned the lady sharply. 

‘ There are lots of young men among these county families 
who would be only too glad to marry a good-looking girl 
with money ; and, though I says it myself, my girls can 
bear looking at in a ballroom as well as any of them.’ 


9 


36 Long Odds, 

‘ Well, it^s no good talking about it, my dear. I don’t see 
how the girls are to marry without meeting young men ; 
and the people about here apparently don’t care about 
knowing us. Now, when we were at Wimbledon, there 
were lots of — ’ 

‘ John ! stockbrokers and City men,’ interrupted Mrs 
Bramton. ‘Yes, I know that; but I look higher a good 
deal for my girls, I can tell you. We must make the people 
know us.’ 

‘ It’s all very well,’ replied John Bramton, ‘to say we must’ 

‘ Very well,’ interposed his wife, ‘ then I’ll put it stronger, 
and say they shall. You know, Mr Bramton, I’m a 
woman of energy — ’ 

‘ Ah ! yes, my dear, and of great conversational powers. 
I have never known you without something to say.’ 

And with this mild sarcasm John Bramton was about 
to leave the room, when the door opened, and a footman 
said, — 

‘ There’s a gentleman to see you, sir, on business.' 

‘What have you done with him, William ? ’ 

‘ Shown him into your study, sir.’ 

‘Quite right, William; quite right, William,’ said Mr 
Bramton pompously. ‘Visitors to the drawing-room, 
people on business to my study,’ with which remark he 
followed the servant to the room in question. 

A stout, middle-aged man, with grizzled hair, keen eyes, 
and a shrewd face, who was apparently admiring the pic- 
tures on the walls, turned abruptly and greeted him. 

‘ You’ve a beautiful place here, Mr Bramton. I couldn’t 
help admiring it as I drove up the avenue. These pictures, 
too, are some of them remarkably fine.’ 

‘Yes, I believe they are. They ought to be. I gave a 
lot of money for ’em. I l^t that department when I was 
furnishing to old Lazarus of Wardour Street, and he as- 
sured me they were all gems and all bargains. Ha 1 ha 1 
I’ve been too long in business to swallow that last, Mr — ’ 
and here John Bramton paused a moment while he 
glanced at his visitor’s card, ‘ Mr Skinner. Still I don’t 
think old Lazarus would cheat me altogether.’ 

‘ I don’t think Mr Bramton is a man who is easily got 
the best of,’ replied the stranger, smiling. ‘I have no 


A Delicate Commission. 37 

doubt that you are as good a judge of a horse as you are 
of a picture/ 

^Tol-lol/ said John Bramton, drawing himself up, and 
falling into his favourite attitude with his thumbs stuck 
into the armholes of his waistcoat. ‘ I keep my fellow up 
to the mark, I can tell you. You’ll see some rare, shiny- 
coated, long-tailed ones in my stables.’ 

‘Ah,’ said Mr Skinner, ‘I see you know how a horse 
ought to look. We are a horsey nation, and there never 
was an Englishman who didn’t consider himself a judge 
of a horse.’ 

John Bramton was flattered. The stranger had tickled 
him like a trout. 

‘ A very pleasant, gentlemanly man,’ thought the host ; 
‘sees at a glance I’m a judge of pictures and horses. 
Whatever business he has come about doesn’t seem to 
be urgent. I daresay he would like a walk round the 
grounds. Hang it ! I’ll ask him to lunch. We don’t see 
many people j it’ll be a change. By the way, Mr Skin- 
ner, perhaps you would like to look round the grounds ? ’ 

‘ Of all things,’ replied the stranger. 

‘ And will do us the favour of stopping to lunch after- 
wards ? ’ continued Mr Bramton. 

The stranger bowed assent, and in another minute or 
two they were strolling through the gardens and pleas- 
aunce. Mr Skinner admired everything, the hothouse, 
the conservatory, the orchid house, vinery, and stables. 

‘ I think Temple Rising the most perfect gentleman’s 
seat I’ve ever been over, and I’ve had some experience. 
By the way, Mr Bramton, I’ve been so taken up in admir- 
ing the pictures, horses, flowers, etc., I quite forgot to 
mention that I knew your poor brother Dick very well.’ 

‘ Did you, indeed ! that’s odd. Poor fellow, I never 
knew exactly how he lived. He was always gambling. 
Came by his death through it.’ 

‘ It was a bad business,’ said Mr Skinner ; ‘ and how 
Dick Bramton came to go in for roulette, rather beats 
me. I suppose he found it dull out there. Nothing to 
do, nobody to talk racing with. He wanted a little excite- 
ment, and he would know how to take care of himself, 
too. I don’t mean when it came to knives, for he was 


38 Long Odds. 

a little man, and a delicate man, but he was a very lead- 
ing man on the turf, I assure you, Mr Bramton.’ 

‘ Ah ! so IVe understood lately. He left a comfortable 
bit of money behind him. They tell me,’ and here John 
Bramton looked a little inquisitively at his auditor, ‘that 
he made a regular business of it’ 

Bramton in fact was not quite sure whether Mr Pecker 
had not been either mistaken himself or hoaxing him 
when he said that the turf could be made a business. 

‘ Business of it ! I should think he did ; and so do most 
men who are really on it.’ 

‘ Come in at this window, Mr Skinner, and let me in- 
troduce you to the ladies, and then we’ll go in to lunch.’ 

They stepped through the window. 

‘ Margaret, my dear,’ exclaimed John Bramton, ‘let me 
introduce you to a friend of poor Dick’s ! My daughters, 
Mr Skinner.’ 

The visitor bowed, and then, turning to Mrs Bramton, 
said, — 

‘Yes, ma’am, Dick Bramton was a very old friend of 
mine, and was one of the cleverest men w^e had. No 
man ever made more dashing coups on the turf. I as- 
sure you he was well known to all the racing magnates.’ 

Now Mrs Bramton, who during his lifetime had had the 
greatest contempt for her brother-in-law, had considerably 
changed her opinion since she had learnt that he had 
left five-and-thirty thousand pounds behind him, and left 
it, as she considered, though not quite properly, still- satis- 
factorily. ‘ It ought to have been left,’ she argued, ‘ to 
her husband in the first instance, even if it went to Dick 
Bram ton’s favourite niece afterwards.’ Then she had 
been rather struck by the very flattering notices about 
him that had appeared in the papers. 

‘Yes,’ she murmured, ‘I believe he was very well 
known to the members of the Jockey Club.’ 

Mr Skinner bowed assent. 

‘ And a very successful man besides.’ 

‘ Very,’ rejoined their visitor. 

‘ So clever, and so successful,’ said Mrs Bramton, smil- 
ing sweetly, ‘that I believe the Jockey Club paid him 
the compliment of warning him off the turf.’ 


A Delicate Commission, 


39 

Mr Skinner^s sole reply was a burst of laughter ; and it 
was a minute or two before he could at all master his 
risible faculties. 

‘ Ten thousand pardons, my dear madam !’ he exclaimed 
at length, ‘but Vm sure you don’t understand what you 
have said. “ Warning olf the turf” is a punishment for dis- 
graceful practices on it ; and poor Dick never did anything 
to warrant that extreme sentence of the Jockey Club.’ 

John Bramton, on hearing this explanation, exploded 
even more boisterously than Mr Skinner, while poor Mrs 
Bramton blushed as red as a peony, and Miss Bramton 
bit her lip with vexation, and muttered to herself, — 

‘ Mamma is always committing some gauc/ierie like that.’ 

‘ My eye, Margaret, you have put your foot into it ! ’ said 
John Bramton, as soon as he could speak. ‘You see, Mr 
Skinner, we ain’t racing people. We don’t know anything 
about it. Poor Dick and I went different ways in life, and 
never saw very much of each other. When we met, you 
see, we had nothing in common. He didn’t understand my 
business, nor I his. In fact, I thought his business was 
gambling until the other day. Now let’s come in to lunch.’ 

‘ Do you live in this neighbourhood, Mr Skinner ? ’ said 
Miss Bramton as they took their places at table. 

‘No, I regret to say not. My business compels me to 
live in London ; but it must be a charming part of the 
country. Thickly populated, so many gentlemen’s places, 
plenty of society, and all that sort of thing.’ 

‘Well, that’s just what it isn’t,’ said Mrs Bramton. 
‘ There are plenty of people, no doubt, but they’re not in- 
clined to be sociable, rather stiff and stand-off — ’ 

‘Mamma, mamma,’ interposed Miss Bramton, ‘you 
forget. The fact is, Mr Skinner, we are newcomers in the 
country, and, as you know, it always takes time to know 
people.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Mr Bramton, ‘your ma is right, Matilda. 
That’s just what they are, ’aughty. Now, here’s my neigh- 
bour the Earl of Ranksborow, I’m sure I wish to be soci- 
able, but he don’t seem to see it.’ 

‘ I think, papa,’ said Lucy quietly, ‘that you’re a little 
impatient. I daresay we shall know people in time, al- 
though not perhaps the Earl of Ranksborow.’ 


40 Long Odds. 

* I am staying at Knightshayes/ observed Mr Skinner. 
‘I’m sure you will find the Earl a very pleasant and 
courteous neighbour as soon as you know him. Some- 
what quick tempered, perhaps, but that’s all.’ 

‘Oh! no doubt,’ rejoined John Bramton hurriedly. 
‘ I’m sure, when I trod on his toe by accident at the flower 
show meeting, he accepted my apology quite affable like.’ 

‘ Well, I really must be going,’ said Mr Skinner, rising. 
‘ What with your charming place, and your kindness, I 
have quite forgot what I came about. I must ask for a 
word with you in your study before I leave.’ 

‘ Certainly,’ replied Mr Bramton, and Mr Skinner 
having said good-bye to his hostess and her daughters, 
followed his entertainer to the room in question. 

‘ The fact is,’ said the visitor, ‘ I have been told you have 
inherited poor Dick Bramton’s racing stud. Amongst 
those horses is a colt called Damocles. It has never run, 
but I candidly own that it is supposed to be good. I am 
commissioned to offer you one thousand pounds for him.’ 

‘ One thousand pounds I ’ ejaculated John Bramton. 
‘ I know they give long prices for some of these racers, 
but a thousand pounds is a mint of money.’ 

‘ It is,’ replied Mr Skinner drily. ‘ I have known 
as much paid many a time for quite as good-looking 
youngsters as Damocles, and they’ve turned out not 
worth a row of gingerbread.’ 

‘Quite so, quite so,’ replied John Bramton. ‘A 
thousand pounds ! — you’re in earnest, Mr Skinner?’ 

‘ Never more so,’ replied that gentleman. ‘ I’ll write 
you a cheque for that sum now, and let you know where 
to send the colt after it’s cashed.’ 

‘ A thousand pounds 1 ’ exclaimed John Bramton, start- 
ing to his feet. ‘ If poor Dick’s horses sell like this, he 
has left a deal more than I reckoned on. Excuse me 
one moment, Mr Skinner,’ and so saying John Bramton 
dashed off in search of his daughter. 

‘ Lucy, my dear,’ he exclaimed, as he pounced upon 
her in the drawing-room, ‘here’s such a chance to get 
rid of one of those horses. Mr Skinner has offered a 
thousand pounds for Dam — Dam — something.’ 

‘ Oh 1 papa, papa 1 ’ cried Lucy. 


A Delicate Commission. 


41 

‘ No, my dear, I don’t mean that. I’m not a damning 
anything, only I can’t recollect the name of the horse.’ 

‘ Damocles, I suppose, papa.’ 

‘ That’s it. Think what a chance, Lucy ; a thousand 
pounds for a wretched brute who does nothing but eat, 
and, as Mr Skinner says, may turn out good for nothing. 
You can buy yourself a pair of ponies, or anything you 
like, and put a lot into the bank besides. We shall 
never get such a chance again.’ 

‘ I don’t know, papa ; I’m not so sure about that. I 
know more about the value of racehorses than you do. 
Mr Skinner, remember, was an intimate friend of poor 
Uncle Dick’s. The probability is that he is a much 
better judge of what Damocles is worth than either of us. 
I know Uncle Dick thought a great deal of that horse j 
besides, what made Mr Skinner come all the way from 
London to offer you a thousand pounds for that horse, 
if he didn’t think he was going to make a good bargain ? ’ 

‘ Pooh ! he didn’t come down on purpose. He’s stay- 
ing,’ continued Mr Bramton pompously, and sticking 
his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, ‘ with my 
neighbour, the Right Honourable the Earl of Ranksborow.’ 

‘ Well, never mind where he came from, papa. He 
wouldn’t come over here quietly and offer you a thousand 
pounds if he didn’t think he was getting Damocles 
cheaply.’ 

‘ Upon my word, Lucy, I believe you’re right. You see 
I never dealt in these kind of goods before. Perhaps 
that Skinner is trying to “ best ” me. Never mind, Lucy, 
you’ll find your old father is a match for most of them,’ 
and so saying John Bramton returned to the study. 

‘ Well, Mr Skinner,’ he said, as he entered, ‘ I don’t 
think it’ll quite do. My girls have a fancy for that horse. 
I think it ’ud make a nice lady’s ’orse, for instance.’ 

Mr Skinner opened his eyes wide. That a man should 
go and consult his wife and daughters about the disposal 
of a racehorse was to him a thing past all understanding. 
Recovering himself, with an easy smile, he said, — 

‘You will have your joke, Mr Bramton. Not quite 
enough, eh ? Well, I’ll make it guineas.’ 

But all John Bramton’s business instincts were now 


42 Long Odds. 

thoroughly awakened. If Mr Skinner could afford to 
spring in his bidding, it was obvious that he was offering 
considerably less than the valuation he put upon the colt 
in question. 

‘ No/ said John Bramton ; ‘ I won’t sell him just at pre- 
sent.’ 

‘ Well, no harm done,’ replied Mr Skinner, as he rose 
to go. ‘ I have had the pleasure of making your acquaint- 
ance, and shall be able to tell Lord Ranksborow what very 
charming neighbours he has got.’ 

‘ Ah ! do now, do now. That’s kindly of you. Tell him 
we do the thing tol-lolish. Very glad if his lordship will 
come in and take a snack with us any time he is passing 
this way.’ 

Mr Bramton insisted upon accompanying his guest to 
the door, where a neat dog-cart was awaiting him. Just 
before stepping into it, Mr Skinner turned and said, — 

‘ I tell you what, it’s overstepping my commission, but 
I’ll take my chance of that. This is my last word. Here’s 
twelve hundred for Damocles, and I’ll write you a cheque 
this minute.’ 

‘ No, no, thank ye,’ replied Mr Bramton. ‘ No ; you see 
we’ve taken a fancy to the horse — quite a pet in the family 
— not to be thought of. Good-bye, good-bye ; so glad to 
have seen you. Remember me to his lordship,’ and with 
these words Mr Bramton bustled back into the house. 

• Good Lord ! ’ he muttered, ‘ to think that I should ever 
refuse twelve hundred pounds for a horse. If he had 
buttonholed me a minute longer on the steps, I must 
have taken it. Oh, dear ! if Lucy is wrong, I shall never 
forgive myself for having missed a chance like that’ 


CHAPTER VII. 

MR SKINNER REPORTS PROGRESS. 

The Right Honourable the Earl of Ranksborow had been 
not at all badly described by Anson at the Heliotrope, — 
an undoubtedly clever man, a brilliant man in pretty nearly 
everything he essayed, but wanting in one great thing, 
namely, stability of purpose. He was always disappoint- 
ing his friends in whatever pursuit he took up. His early 


Mr Skinner reports Progress, 43 

efforts were invariably so crowned with success that great 
things were expected of him. At one time in the political 
world he was regarded as one of the most rising young 
men of his party. He was then Lord Dartree ; and it was 
prophesied of him that, with practice, he would become 
one of the best speakers in the House. But suddenly 
he cast politics on one side and took to steeplechasing, 
and distinguished himself at first by riding with great 
dash but equal want of judgment. However, he threw 
himself into his new pursuit with all the ardour habitual 
to him, and racing men were soon full of astonishment 
at the way in which he improved. At one time he had 
dabbled in literature, and some of his hunting and society 
ballads were in all the world’s mouth. One thing after 
another he took up only to throw upon one side just as 
he was beginning to make a name in it. As one of his most 
intimate friends said at the time, ‘ Dartree is a rare be- 
ginner, but he can’t stay.’ To all the pursuits of his 
youth the Earl had remained faithful only to the turf and 
the whist-table. He had lost thousands at the former, 
but the latter was no doubt worth some hundreds a year 
to him. He was a scientific player, and nobody had ever 
seen the Earl lose his head either on the racecourse or 
at the card-table, which, considering his naturally hot 
temper, showed that he had considerable strength of 
mind when his interests required it. 

‘ So you bungled it, Skinner. I gave you a pretty liberal 
limit, too ; and, from all I can hear, this John Bramton was 
neither likely to want the colt nor to be aware of his value.’ 

‘No, my lord,’ rejoined Skinner quietly, ‘ I have made 
no mess of it whatever. I did not bid to anything like 
what you said I might. It would have been no good ; it 
would have been showing one’s hand for nothing. This 
John Bramton knows nothing of horses, but is a shrewd 
man, with commercial instincts. The minute he found I 
wanted the colt, he rushed at the conclusion that it was 
worth more than I bid for it. He doesn’t know what 
it’s worth, but he is terribly afraid of letting it go under 
its full value.’ 

‘And there are plenty of people to tell him that,’ 
growled the Earl. 


44 Long Odds, 

‘ Yes/ rejoined Skinner ; ‘ and you know, my lord, there 
are plenty of people would go a good deal higher for 
the colt than you authorised me/ 

‘ Yes ! Confound it 1 I’d bid high enough if I had 
it, but then I haven’t. Damocles is worth more to me 
than he is to anyone else.’ 

The scene of the above conversation was Lord Ranks- 
borow’s private den at Knightshayes — a very different 
sanctum from that of Mr Bramton. Instead of pictures, 
the walls were lined with bookcases containing a curious 
medley of literature. The Racing Calendar stood cheek 
by jowl with Horace, Juvenal, Tacitus, etc., while the 
English classics were mixed up with the Sporting Maga- 
zine and numerous old books which referred to the turf 
in its earlier days. Above the fireplace was a large oil- 
painting — the sole one in the room — representing the great 
match between Voltigeur and the Flying Dutchman, run 
over the Knavesmire in ’52, while opposite this was 
a tall mahogany cabinet with glass doors, through which 
you could see trays filled with cigars of every description, 
something like one of those cabinets in which collectors 
keep bird’s eggs, only on a larger scale. 

Mr Skinner had so far told the truth when he had 
said that he was staying at Knightshayes. Indeed he 
often came down for a night or two ; but he certainly had 
not informed Mr Bramton of his exact position there. 
He was a very leading turf commissioner, and amongst 
his clients had for many years numbered Lord Ranks- 
borow. In fact, in the early part of his career, Mr Skinner 
had been indebted to the Earl for many remunerative 
commissions, and owed his first start in his vocation to 
that nobleman having taken him up and recommended 
him to two or three of his racing friends. But the Earl 
treated him completely as a man of business. He was 
always comfortably put up, an excellent dinner and bottle 
of wine was always provided for him, and Lord Ranks- 
borow would sometimes dine with him in the library; 
but he would have as soon thought of asking his butler 
to join the family circle as Mr Skinner. 

‘ What the deuce is to be done ? I fancied the looks 
of that colt irnmensely when he carne into the sale-ring. 


Mr Skinner reports Progress, 45 

When Dick Bramton endorsed my judgment by giving 
a long sum for him, I fancied him still more, and, as 
you know, I snapped every yearling book I could get 
hold of about him. Of course I told Dick he could have 
as much as he wanted, and he told me, poor fellow, just 
before he went to Egypt, that he had tried him — “a 
clipper.” Slubber told me the same thing again this 
spring. I never had such a chance ; and now, goodness 
knows into whose hands the colt will go. What the devil 
is to be done, Skinner ? Take a weed, Skinner. Put on 
your considering cap, and think it out,^ and as he spoke 
the Earl pushed his cigar-box across to his commissioner. 

The latter carefully selected a Cabana from the box, 
lit it, and smoked for two or three minutes in silence. 

‘ There’s only one way out of it that I can see, my lord,’ 
he observed at length. 

‘ I suppose you mean a big ten thousand pounds and 
have done with it. I tell you I can’t ; I haven’t got it.’ 

‘No; I don’t mean that exactly. I think I see a way by 
which you might possibly become owner of Damocles for 
very much less money than that ; say for the fifteen hun- 
dred which you authorised me to go to. And you know, 
my lord, that anybody who knew anything about horse- 
flesh would simply laugh at such a bid as that. Our 
only chance of getting hold of Damocles was Mr Bramton’s 
total ignorance of everything connected with racing.’ 

‘All’s fair in horse-dealing,’ rejoined the Earl sharply. 
‘ Be good enough, Skinner, to remember that I don’t em- 
ploy you to moralise, but to act.’ 

His lordship was quite aware that, in attempting to buy 
Damocles at the figure he proposed, he was being guilty 
of a piece of uncommon sharp practice, and by no means 
relished being reminded of it by his subordinate. 

‘ Well, my lord,’ said Skinner, ‘ I think if you would 
drive over to Temple Rising and see Mr Bramton your- 
self, and offer him the fifteen hundred, he would very 
likely take it from you.’ 

‘ I don’t see that he is more likely to take the price 
from one man than another. If you thought that, why 
the deuce didn’t you offer it him ? ’ 

‘ Because, my lord, I don’t want to lose your custom. 


46 Long Odds, 

Fve heard you say again and again that you never employ 
fools knowingly. I purposely stopped at twelve hundred, 
in order to leave you an opening.’ 

‘ I’ll be hung if I understand you ! ’ exclaimed the Earl. 

‘ Mr Bramton has just bought a property near you, and 
is simply dying to make your acquaintance. Take my 
advice ; call upon him at once, admire his place and 
welcome him cordially to the country. Call upon him 
again two or three days later, offer him fifteen hundred for 
Damocles, and Til bet you a level fiver it’s a deal.’ 

‘ What I call upon that d — d tradesman ! ’ exclaimed 
the Earl. 

‘Think of Damocles,’ softly murmured Mr Skinner, 
and then Lord Ranksborow burst into a peal of laughter. 

‘ What on earth put this idea into your head ? ’ 

‘ When one goes horse-dealing, one naturally looks out 
for the weak points both of the horse and his owner. 
You know the old cant, my lord, of the dealer’s yard, 
“ I wouldn’t part with that animal to anyone but a real 
horseman like yourself.” Of course the dealer there is 
simply tickling his customer’s vanity. You must tickle 
Mr Bramton’s vanity. I don’t suppose he ever knew a 
real lord before, and he’s simply just death upon knowing 
one now.’ 

‘ By Jove ! I’ll do it, Skinner ! ’ cried the peer, laughing, 
‘I’ll doit!’ 

‘ Remember, the sooner the better. As soon as it oozes 
out who Damocles belongs to, it’s quite likely there will 
be others as anxious to buy as we are.’ 

‘ Yes, and with more money,’ muttered the Earl. ‘ No, 
you’re quite right ; it must be done at once. I’ll drive 
over to-morrow afternoon.’ 

‘ By tlie way,’ said Skinner, laughing, ‘ I quite forgot 
Mr Bramton’s message. He sent you his kind regards, 
and he hoped, any time you were passing, you would 
drop in and take a snack.’ 

‘ Confound his impudence 1 ’ exclaimed the Earl. 

‘ He further bid me tell you,’ continued Skinner, his 
mouth twitching with suppressed laughter, ‘that they 
did the thing tol-lolish at Temple Rising.’ 

For a moment Lord Ranksborow’s eyes flashed, and 


Mr Skinner reports Progress, 47 

then the absurdity of the whole thing struck him, and 
he once more burst out into a peal of laughter. 

‘ I will, Skinner ; by heavens, I will ! On the strength 
of that message, 1^11 go over to lunch there to-morrow, 
ril make myself deuced agreeable both to Bramton 
and all the ladies of the family.’ 

‘ There’s one thing more, my lord. Do you think the 
ladies of your family — ’ 

‘ Stop, sir,’ interrupted the Earl. ‘ My calling is one 
thing ; it does not much matter whom I know. With the 
Countess and my daughters it’s a very different thing.’ 

‘ Well, my lord, of course it’s not for me even to pre- 
tend to know anything about these things, but remember 
it’s a card in your hand. If the Countess would call, and 
you could just once in a way ask them over to a family 
dinner, upon my word, when you came to the wine and 
walnuts, I think Mr Bramton would give you Damocles.’ 

‘You mean well, Skinner, but I can’t have the Countess 
and my daughters mixed up with such a menagerie as this.’ 

‘ I can be of no further use to you, my lord, in this 
matter, and will be off by the early train to-morrow 
morning. Any other instructions you have got to give me, 
you will of course write or wire to the Victoria Club.’ 

‘Good-night, Skinner; youVe done your best, and 
though you couldn’t accomplish the deal, we have at all 
events got soundings.’ 

‘ Good-night, my lord,’ rejoined the commissioner, as 
he threw the end of his cigar into the fireplace and took 
his bedroom candle. 

‘ A shrewd fellow that,’ muttered the Earl, as the door 
closed behind his agent. ‘ I always said he would come 
to the top of the tree ; and I suppose he has the working 
of quite half the big commissions that come into the 
market, and nobody understands the manipulation of the 
strings about a big handicap better. That was a masterly 
stroke of his, stopping at twelve hundred 1 It leaves me 
the chance of offering fifteen hundred in an outburst of 
patrician liberality,’ and the Earl chuckled at his own 
sarcasm. ‘ What a judge of human nature the beggar is ! 
He turned that John Bramton inside out during the 
couple of hours he spent at Temple Rising. Poor Moly- 


48 Long Odds. 

neux ! to think that Temple Rising should pass int) the 
hands of a fellow who has made his money in soap boil- 
ing, grey shirtings, or some such business. It seems but 
yesterday Molyneux and 1 had our cottage at Newmarket, 
and always took a place at Ascot together. I wonder 
where he is now. I implored him to hedge his Vanguard 
money that Cesarewitch day, and I can recollect now 
the smile with which he said, “ It’s neck or nothing this 
time, old man. I’ve got every acre of Temple Rising on 
it. I’m going for the gloves, and intend to be a man or a 
mouse over this,” and mouse it was. Ah ! well, if Knights- 
hayes hadn’t been strictly entailed. I’m not certain it would 
be in the family now. Well, to-morrow I must go over and 
call upon this vulgar tradesman, I suppose. If I could 
only get Damocles into my own hands. I’d give the ring 
a shaker. Sharp fellow, Skinner, and not given to make 
mistakes. I hope he hasn’t made one upon this occasion. 
By the way, I wonder what Skinner was. He must have 
had a superior education and bringing up, he is so much 
better mannered than most of his brethren. An odd 
thing one is always hearing stories of what the leading 
bookmakers were before they took to their present pro- 
fession. Heaven knows whether these legends are true or 
not, but the odd thing is I never heard anybody claim to 
know what Skinner’s antecedents might have been,’ and 
absorbediin this conjecture, his lordship betook himself to 
his chamber. 

As for the subject of these speculations, he murmured 
as he laid his head upon his pillow, — 

‘ He’ll only half do it, I know. His confounded pride 
will stand in his way. Yet, if any man on the turf wants 
a turn, it’s the Earl of Ranksborow. If he would only 
just put his pride in his pocket, dr\ve over to Temple 
Rising with the Countess, and be a bit sociable with the 
Bramtons, he might just now have Damocles at his own 
price. I’ll lay a hundred but he’ll only half do it to start 
with, and before he has thoroughly made up his mind to 
swallow the Bramtons, John Bramton will have come at 
the fact that the colt is worth a deal of money.’ 


Lord Ranksborow calls. 


49 


CHAPTER VII L 

LORD RANKSBOROW CALLS. 

John Bramton’s daughters had been, as is so often the 
case, brought up in a very different style from their father 
and mother. They were quite ignorant of the genteel 
poverty in which their parents* early days had been passed. 
They had never seen anything of that close economy in 
the household which had been necessary, when they were 
too young to recollect it, in order to make both ends 
meet. John Bramton had got his foot upon the ladder 
when he ventured to marry, and his progress up it had 
been rapid. 

By the time Matilda and Lucy Bramton were children 
old enough to take note of such things, their father, though 
not rich, was in comfortable circumstances, and from that 
time his store increased rapidly year by year. He was a 
capital business man, and a lucky one to boot, as lucky in 
one line as his brother had been in another. His daughters 
were sent to the best of schools, and finished off at a 
fashionable bparding-school. They were pretty, ladylike 
girls, but differed a good deal in disposition. Matilda was 
burning with a desire to push her way into good society, 
and looked down upon her father’s old friends and ac- 
quaintance with the greatest contempt. She it was who, 
working through her mother, had been the main cause of 
their selling the villa at Wimbledon and purchasing the 
estate of Temple Rising from its luckless and ruined 
owner. She wished to sever all connection with what she 
was pleased to term her father’s ‘ City set,’ and had only 
just discovered that it does not follow that, because you 
settle in a county, that county will receive you with open 
arms. 

Lucy differed in some respects from her sister. She was 
quite as much awake to the pleasures of good society as 
Matilda. It was natural that both girls, refined as they 
had been by their bringing up, should shrink a little from 
the boisterous jokes and vulgarity of their father’s old 
friends. He himself often set Matilda’s teeth on edge in 
this wise ; and of her mother’s gaucheries that young lady 
D 


50 Long Odds, 

had much horror. Lucy was equally alive to her parents’ 
weaknesses in this wise ; but the difference between the 
two girls was this, that whereas Matilda could scarcely 
conceal her impatience of her father and mother^s failings, 
Lucy never forgot that they were her father and mother 
— a circumstance which, when irritated, Matilda, if she re- 
membered, was apt to take slight heed of. 

The Miss Bramtons, in short, had been educated to a 
standard considerably above that in which their parents 
habitually mixed, and it was little wonder that they were 
both somewhat discontented with their lot. It is hard 
upon girls who have been brought up as ladies, to be un- 
able to find amongst the men of their acquaintance any 
whom they can quite regard as gentlemen, and that was 
one reason that made Lucy so fond of travelling about 
with her late uncle. 

Dick Bramton, although by no means a refined man, 
was not so essentially vulgar as his brother. If he mixed 
on the turf with a rough lot, he also associated there with 
men of undeniable polish and culture, such as the Earl of 
Ranksborow, to wit. Then, while travelling with him, Lucy 
came across many pleasant people, who were also wander- 
ing, and who, whatever they might be at home, were un- 
mistakably well-bred. A pretty girl like Lucy Bramton 
was almost sure to attract the best young men, either on 
the steamers or at the table dhdte, to her side ; and she 
found their society infinitely more pleasant than that of 
those young gentlemen in business who frequented the 
villa at Wimbledon. 

It would be absurd to suppose that Lucy had forgotten 
that tall, good-looking dragoon whom she had met at 
Shepheard’s Hotel. Captain Cuxwold had stood as far as 
he could betweei\ her and the first great sorrow of her 
life. She had been inexpressibly shocked and grieved at 
her uncle’s death — an uncle who, let his faults be what- 
ever they might, had always been most kind and indulgent 
to her. Cuxwold, she knew, had saved her an infinity of 
trouble, and she felt very grateful to him, not only for tne 
trouble he had taken, but also for the delicate considera- 
tion he had shown in all the arrangements he had made 
for her. It was natural, under these circumstances, that 


Lord Ranksborow calls. 5 1 

he should be often present to her thoughts. Moreover, the 
war clouds were once more rolling up over the desert, and 
whether the Government liked it or not, whether they cared 
to save Khartoum, or whether they did not, it was evident 
to all men that the Mahdi had to be confronted and stem- 
med. From the sands of the desert, from the waters of 
the Oxus and Zaxartes, there has never been any difficulty 
afiout gathering a horde of warlike adventurers whenever 
a leader arose who, dubbing himself prophet, fired the 
fanaticism of his followers, and filled their souls with the 
lust of plunder. From time immemorial the bait dangled 
before the eyes of the Turcoman has been India; and 
again and again has he swept through the wild Afghan 
country, and spread desolation to the banks of the Ganges. 
To the Arab, the lure has always been Lower Egypt; and 
when the green banner of the prophet was first unfurled, 
it seemed as if little less than the domination of all Europe 
would content the wild horsemen of the desert. 

Little use to say the Mahdi was a mere fakir, an outcast 
priest come from the scum of the people, what you will. 
He was a force and a focus for thousands of the wild 
hordes of the desert; and, undisciplined though they might 
be, these children of the sandy sea were men of thews 
and sinews, reckless of life, and could be depended upon 
to follow their chiefs to the death. Interest began to 
rise high in England when the fact was grasped that the 
roar of public indignation had at last made the Govern- 
ment tardily decide to rescue the man whom they had 
sent to pacify the Soudan, and then apparently forgotten. 
There was something dramatic in the picture of this one 
man breasting the full flood of fanaticism ; in this leader, 
abandoned by his chiefs, standing with colossal heroism 
in the breach against anarchy ; in this one man dominat- 
ing, by sheer ascendancy of will, over the half-hearted and 
treacherous population of a city, and inducing them to 
stand the privations of a siege. The attention of Eng- 
land was centred on the hero of Khartoum, and the pro- 
blem now was by what means could assistance be most 
speedily conveyed to him ; and over this point there was 
much discussion amongst the great military chiefs of the 
kingdom. That the expedition would have no easy task 


52 Long Odds, 

before it was perfectly well recognised, and that the race 
they were about to encounter were made of very different 
stuff from the Egyptians they so easily beat at Tel-el- 
Kebir, was also perfectly well known. 

From having been in Egypt, and heard a great deal of 
course about the first campaign, Lucy naturally took a very 
deep interest in everything connected with the country. 
More especially did she feel interested as to what share the 
24th Lancers might bear in the forthcoming expedition. 

She had promised Captain Cuxwold at parting to let 
him know of her safe arrival in England, 'fhat promise 
had been duly kept, and she had received in reply a very 
pleasant, chatty letter, in which the writer, while expressing 
hknself intensely sick of Cairo, wound up by saying, — ‘But 
there surely must be work for some of us before long. 
The whole world will cry shame on England if she aban- 
don Gordon at Khartoum, though how we are to get to 
him, I confess I don’t see. However, thank Heaven, 
that’s a point which our chiefs have to determine ; but it 
is not likely that the Arabs will allow us to promenade 
the desert without trying what we’re made of.’ And then, 
congratulating her upon being in England instead of 
grilling at Cairo, he concluded with ‘ Most sincerely yours, 
Jack Cuxwold.’ 

We are all apt, on the verge bf a campaign, to speculate 
whether our friends, relations, or even acquaintances will 
take part in it, and therefore it is small wonder that Lucy 
Bramton constantly wondered whether the 24th Lancers 
would take part in this expedition, which the papers fore- 
told was not likely to attain its end without some sharp 
fighting of the tribes of the desert. 

Mr Bramton was sitting in the drawing-room, yawning 
over the Titnes^ and, sooth to say, not a little weary of his 
new role of a country gentleman. 

‘ It’s all very well, Margaret,’ he observed, ‘ but I like 
Wimbledon better. There were always lots of people to 
come and see us at Wimbledon, and then I could always run 
into the City, and have a crack with my old friends. No ; 
I know, my dear, this is very genteel, but it’s devilish dull.’ 

‘Nonsense! You’ll be all light when we get to know 
people, and when you’ve been made a magistrate. You 


Lord Ranksborow calls. 53 

ought to farm a bit ; it’s the proper thing for a country 
gentleman to do.’ 

‘ Is it ? Then for once, Mrs Bramton, I decline to play 
the part of a country gentleman. Farming means ruin 
to those who understand it. What it means to those 
who don’t, I’m sure I can’t guess. Oh, dear ! I wish 
lunch was ready ; it’s something to do, at all events.’ 

Suddenly the door was thrown open, not by a foot- 
man, but by the butler in person, who in full unctuous 
tones rolled out the name of ‘ The Earl of Ranksborow.’ 
The announcement of their noble neighbour fell like a 
bombshell upon the worthy pair. Mrs Bramton at once 
began to shake out her skirts, while as for her husband, 
he bounced out of his chair, and advancing to the Earl, 
who was making his way up the room, exclaimed, — 

‘ How d’ye do, my lord ? Happy to make your lord- 
ship’s acquaintance. Lovely day isn’t it ? ’ 

‘ Hq#v d’ye do, Mrs Bramton ? ’ said the Earl, as, having 
shaken hands with his host, he crossed to address the 
lady of the house. ‘ I got a message from an acquaint- 
ance of mine whom you were good enough to show 
your place to yesterday; and I’ve taken you at your 
word you see, Mr Bramton. I was passing, and I’ve 
come in to beg some lunch.’ 

‘Only too happy, my lord,’ rejoined Bramton, as he 
made a nervous snatch at the bell. ‘ Lunch, Peters, at 
once,’ he remarked to the butler, as that functionary 
entered the room ; ‘ and Peters, ahem ! ’ and here the 
little man indulged in a perfect code of telegraphic 
signals, and finally grievously tried Lord Ranksborow’s 
gravity by exclaiming, in a most audible stage whisper, 
‘ the extra dry, remember, Peters.’ 

‘ He evidently means doing me tol-lolish,’ thought the 
Earl, struggling hard to restrain his laughter. 

‘ It’s a beautiful place your husband has bought, Mrs 
Bramton. Temple Rising always puts me out of all con- 
ceit with Knigbtshayes. My place is bigger, but it’s not 
half so pretty as this ; nor is my old barrack near so com- 
fortable a house as yours.’ 

‘You know it well, of course, my lord?’ said Mrs 
Bramton. 


54 Long Odds. 

‘Known it all my life/ replied the Earl. ‘Poor Moly- 
neux was a great friend of mine, and, without the slightest 
disparagement to you, I own I was very sorry to lose 
him as a neighbour. However, we must all bow to the 
inevitable ; and I can only hope I shall be on as good 
terms with his successors as I was with himself.^ 

Oh! Lord Ranksborow, Lord Ranksborow! Damocles 
once yours, and it^s little you will trouble your head 
about the newcomers at Temple Rising. 

At this moment the two Miss Bramtons entered, and 
the Earl was most decidedly astonished. 

‘ Two deuced pretty, ladylike girls/ he muttered to him- 
self. ‘Who the deuce would ever have thought that a 
couple of vulgarians like these could have reared two such 
thoroughbred-looking chicks as those ? ’ 

He advanced and shook hands with the young ladies 
most cordially, welcomed them heartily to the county, 
and congratulated them upon being the possessory of the 
prettiest place in it. 

‘ You^re laughing at us. Lord Ranksborow,’ said Miss 
Bramton, smiling. ‘I fancy we dwindle into insignifi- 
cance by the side of Knightshayes.’ 

‘ That, I trust, you will soon have an opportunity of judg- 
ing for yourself. As I was telling Mr Bramton just now, 
my place may be bigger, but yours has it altogether in 
point of beauty.’ 

All through luncheon the Earl won golden opinions on 
all sides. He talked, perhaps, chiefly to Miss Matilda, but 
he was far too experienced a man of the world not to, as 
far as possible, make the conversation general. Mrs Bram- 
ton, however, could be persuaded to take but little part 
in it. She was somewhat awestruck by her guest, and 
still more was she afraid of committing herself and being 
pounced upon by her eldest daughter. Miss Matilda 
snubbed her mother rather sharply at times for the sole- 
cisms she was wont to commit. The meal over, the Earl 
wished the ladies good-bye, and said airily, — 

‘ I’ll just have a weed in your sanctum, Bramton, before 
I start.’ 

‘ Certainly, my lord, certainly,’ was the reply, and that 
gentleman led the way to his own room at once. 


Lord Ranksborow calls. ss 

Once seated there, and his cigar comfortably alight, 
Lord Ranksborow proceeded at once to business. 

‘ Your brother was an old friend of mine,' he said ; ‘ and 
I hear he has left you all his horses ? ' 

‘ Well, in a way, so to speak,' replied John Bram ton. 

^You're not much of a racing man, I think,' continued 
the Earl, ‘ or else I must have heard of you before. If it's 
a fair question, what do you think of doing with them ? 
Will they be for sale ? ' 

‘ Damocles, Damocles,' muttered Mr Bramton to him- 
self; ‘dash my wig, if he ain't after Damocles! Lucy 
has got some gumption in her ; that horse is worth a lot 
of money. I know he's worth twelve hundred pounds, 
because I refused that sum for him yesterday.' 

‘ I'm sure I don't know, my lord. I don't know much 
about such things myself. I don't suppose poor Dick's 
nags are of much account.' 

‘ The old fox,' thought the Earl, ‘ is not quite such an 
innocent as Skinner pronounced him. Yesterday told 
him that one of them, at all events, was worth money.' 

‘ Ah ! well if they are to come to the hammer, I should 
like to know. There's one or two of them I should like to 
have. Indeed, if you think of selling them by private 
contract, shall be very glad to have the refusal of them.' 

‘ Well, my lord, I haven't at all made up my mind as 
yet.' 

‘ You've a young one called Damocles,' continued the 
peer, as he flipped the ash off his cigar. ‘ Now I can 
give you a good round sum for him, if you like to part 
with him. Now I'm not going to beat about the bush, 
or have any shilly-shally about it — that's all very well 
amongst horse-copers, but it’s not the thing between 
gentlemen. Now, once for all, Bramton, I've taken a 
fancy to Damocles. Will fifteen hundred pounds buy him ? 
If not, there’s no more to be said.' 

‘ Fifteen hundred ? That's a deal of money, to say no- 
thing of the opportunity of obliging your lordship. Ex- 
cuse me for one moment. I'll just go and consult — that 
is to say. I'll just go and look at some papers. I should 
just like to mention it. Poor Dick's last will and testa- 
ment, you know.' 


56 


Long Odds, 

‘ Now, what in Heaven’s name does he mean by all 
that farrago? He surely can’t mean to consult Mrs 
Bramton about selling a horse. I wonder if he’ll bite ? 
By Jove ! what a coup if he does.’ 

A few minutes and Mr Bramton re-enters the room. 

‘ I’m very sorry, my lord, awfully sorry,’ he exclaimed, 

‘ but I can’t give you any decided answer to-day ! I won’t 
say no, but I can’t say yes.’ 

‘All right,’ said the Earl, ‘no harm done. Send me a line 
over to Knightshayes when you’ve made up your mind. 
Good-bye ; very glad to have made your acquaintance,’ 
and with these words the Earl took his departure. 

‘ There now,’ said Mr Bramton, ‘ Lucy has done it. 
Fifteen hundred for a horse — the friendship of an earl — 
a first-class introduction to all the county, and dam’me 
if the girl hasn’t said no to it.’ 

CHAPTER IX. 

JOHN bramton’^ eyes ARE OPENED. 

No man could be more profoundly ignorant of racing 
matters than Mr* Bramton. He would as soon have 
thought of reading Horace in the original as the sport- 
ing intelligence in the newspapers, and would have 
understood as much about the one as the other ; but 
John Bramton’s trading instincts were much too quick 
not to see that Damocles was a very valuable colt. 
What the horse might be worth he had no conception, 
but he had not been buying and selling all his life not 
to feel perfectly sure that neither Mr Skinner nor Lord 
Ranksborow had bid him full value. About the declining 
of Mr Skinner’s offer, he had no doubt but that Lucy 
had persuaded him to do rightly ; but the Earl’s was 
quite another matter. He felt pretty sure that the fifteen 
hundred was considerably less than the colt ought to 
fetch ; but then there was the contingency. Fifteen 
hundred pounds and the friendship of the Ranksborow 
family ! Surely it was worth while to let the Earl have a 
bargain, and by that means arrive at intimacy with him 
and his. Mr Bramton ought to have known better than 
to believe that laying a man under an obligation can be 


John Bramton's Eyes are opened. 57 

relied on to entail his gratitude and friendship. He had 
been angry and dumbfoundered at Lucy’s refusal to at 
once conclude the sale of Damocles, but there was no 
time to argue the matter out then, as the Earl was await- 
ing his decision. There was nothing for it but to tem- 
porise, so having briefly informed his daughter that she 
was a headstrong little fool, he rushed back to his own 
room, and gave Lord Ranksborow the undecided answer 
we know of. • 

Lucy was destined to have a somewhat uncomfortable 
time of it for the next two days. Her whole family were 
up in arms against her. In the eyes of her mother and 
sister. Lord Ranksborow’s offer had been princely ; and 
then it was so unkind, so ill-tempered of her to throw 
obstacles in the way of their entering county society. 
Such an opening as this might never occur again ; and, 
when the Earl was so anxious to be friendly, it was so 
ungracious not to part with a horse she had never seen 
and could not possibly want. 

‘ This Damocles — such a name to give a horse ! ’ cries 
Miss Matilda, ‘ is of no use except for racing purposes ; 
and though ladies go racing, yet nobody ever heard of 
their owning racehorses ! ’ 

An observation which once more endorses the correct- 
ness of Mr Biglow’s famous line, ‘That they didn’t know 
everything down in Judee.’ 

But Lucy was obstinate. She said first of all it was by 
no means clear that they had a right to dispose of these 
horses until the engagements they were entered for were 
over; but, supposing that she had the legal right, her 
uncle had left her everything, had been very kind to her 
all his lifetime, and she thought she owed it to his memory 
to carry out his last wishes as far as she could. She re- 
minded them all that his dying message to her had been 
to ‘ take care of Damocles ; ’ then again she argued, — 

‘ Remember what we’ve heard about the Earl of Ranks- 
borow since we’ve been here. We know very well that, 
though he is a nobleman with a large estate, he is a 
notoriously hard-up man. Nobody suggests for one 
moment that he is narrow or illiberal in his dealings ; it 
is simply that he has a great deal to keep up, and barely 


58 Long Odds, 

the money to do it with. Is it likely, father, that he could 
afford to make you a fair bid for a horse ? ’ 

‘As a business man, Lucy, I tell you fairly I think 
youVe probably right ; but this horse is nothing to you, and 
just think what it means to us all. Why, it’ll lead to you 
and Matilda making the acquaintance of all the surround- 
ing nobility and gentry.^ 

But Lucy stuck to her guns, and positively refused to 
give her consent to the acceptance of Lord Ranksborow’s 
offer, upon which her father angrily reminded her that 
she was a minor, and that, as her trustee, he should act as 
he thought best for her, and take the earliest opportunity 
of disposing of such a very ticklish property as a stud of 
racehorses. 

How Tar Mr Bramton would have proceeded to carry 
out his threat is problematical, but the second day brought 
help to Lucy from a very unexpected quarter. Mr Bram- 
ton was proudly contemplating his domain from the 
terrace outside the drawing-room window, when a foot- 
man came to him, and said, — 

‘ A gentleman to see you, sir, on business. Hasn’t got 
a card, sir, but gives the name of Stubber.’ 

‘Stubber, Stubber,’ said Mr Bramton meditatively; 
‘ never heard the name in my life. What have you done 
with him, William ? ’ 

‘ Shown him into your private room, sir.’ 

‘ Quite right,’ said Mr Bramton. ‘ Now I wonder what 
this fellow can want ? ’ and so saying, he trotted off to dis- 
cover. 

Stubber was a trainer of the old school. A slight, 
wiry, keen-eyed man of fifty or thereabouts, attired in a 
broad -skirted, pepper-and-salt coat, drab breeches and 
gaiters. He rose from his chair as Mr Bramton entered 
the room, and said, — 

‘ Morning, sir ; I’d have been down to pay my respects 
before, only I didn’t know who the horses belonged to. 
I’m told Mr Richard has left the whole string to you ? ’ 

‘Another of them, by gum ! He’s come about Damocles,* 
muttered John Bramton to himself. ‘I wonder whether he 
wants to buy him ? Not likely I’m going to part with that 
valuable animal to a fellow like him when there’s an earl 


John BramtorHs Eyes are opened. 59 

wanting to buy him. Well, yes,’ he replied at length, 
‘that’s about the size of it’ 

‘ Well, sir, I always gave your poor brother every satis- 
faction, an,d, though I ses it myself, I know my business, 
and can pitch ’em out as fit as any man in England.’ 

‘Quite so, my good man,’ replied John Bramton, ‘though 
what you propose to pitch out, and what your business 
may be, I’m blessed if I’ve the slightest idea.’ 

‘ Why, sir, I’m poor Mr Richard’s trainer. I’ve come 
down to talk to you about them bosses ; and I do hope 
you’ll leave ’em with me.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ rejoined Mr Bramton, with the long-drawn breath 
of a man who suddenly makes a startling discovery, 
‘ you’re the keeper of Damocles ? I mean, that you’ve 
charge of that valuable animal. Keeper, no ; that’s what 
they say of the people in charge of the wild beasts in the 
Zoological Gardens. You’re the — what was it you called 
yourself? ’ 

‘Trainer, sir. I’ve trained for Mr Richard for the last 
eight years ; and as for Damocles, he’s a clinker, he is. I 
don’t think I ever had such a colt in my charge before.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ said Mr Bramton patronisingly, and speaking as 
if he had been in the habit of winning the Derby every 
four or five years for some time past, ‘I’m told he’s a 
nice ’orse. Why, I was bid fifteen hundred pounds for him 
the beginning of the week.’ 

‘ Fifteen hundred pounds I ’ ejaculated the trainer, in 
tones of the most profound contempt. 

‘Just so, just so,’ continued Mr Bramton. ‘I thought 
it wasn’t enough. Now, Mr Stubber, what do you con- 
sider the value of a “clinker ? ” ’ 

‘ Damocles is well worth five thousand pounds this very 
minute, and -will be well worth ten before a fortnight is over 
our heads.’ 

John Bramton was thunderstruck. He had been quite 
prepared to urge his daughter to sacrifice a little money 
with a view to getting the entrance into the county society 
they wished. He would have said, and with some reason, 
to Lucy, ‘You’re a rich young woman, and it is well 
worth your while to sacrifice two or three hundred pounds 
in order to gain a good social position.’ But he had made 


6o 


Long Odds. 

his own money much too hardly to think of throwing away 
thousands for any such shadowy idea as that. No man 
more likely to have said, ‘ The money will stick to you, 
my girl, and society perhaps won't.’ 

‘ Why do you say, Mr Stubber,' he said, at length, ‘ that 
this horse will be worth so much more in a fortnight ? ' 

‘Well, sir,' replied the trainer, ‘there is no certainty in 
racing, but Fm as confident as a man can be about any- 
thing connected with it, that Damocles will win the New 
Stakes at Ascot the week after next, and, I think, easily 
too. If he does, I can only say, in my opinion, consider- 
ing how heavily he is engaged, he'll be worth double the 
money he is now. Whatever else you may sell, sir, I do 
hope you won't sell him, and I further venture to hope 
you'll leave him in my charge. Be guided by me, sir ; 
don’t part with him, at all events till after Ascot ; and if 
you're not satisfied with the way he runs, then say Sam 
Stubber is an old fool, and isn't fit to look after a horse.' 

‘ Well, Mr Stubber,' said Bramton, ‘I promise you, at all 
events, the horses shall be left with you till after Ascot, and 
by that time I shall probably have made up my mind 
what to do about them.' 

‘ Thank'ee, sir. Maybe you'll come down and look at 
the horses ? I should like you to see Damocles have his 
wind up before Ascot.' 

‘ Thank you,' said Mr Bramton. ‘ I don't know much 
about such things myself. Don't quite understand how 
you wind a horse up either, but I suppose, like clocks, it’s 
a mistake to overdo it.' 

The trainer smiled as he replied,^ — 

‘Too bad of you, Mr Bramton, to gammon me in this 
way, and pretend you know nothing about racing. That’s 
just where it is, many a good stake is thrown away by 
overwinding.' 

‘ It strikes me I'm getting on in this new line of busi- 
ness,' thought Mr Bramton. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Stubber, I 
don't understand it, and I shall leave you to manage 
matters for yourself, at all events till after Ascot.' 

‘ Very well, sir,' replied the trainer. ‘ If you do change 
your mind, there's my address, and I can give you a com- 
fortable bedroom, and a decent dinner ; but now I will 


John Bramtofis Eyes are opened. 6i 

say good-bye. I suppose you would like the result of 
the New Stakes telegraphed?^ 

‘Yes, I think so, Stubber. I’m not much of a race- 
goer myself. Good-bye.’ 

Mr Bramton sat for some time lost in thought after the 
trainer had departed. It was quite obvious to him that 
his noble friend the Earl of Ranksborow had endeavoured 
to drive an uncommonly good bargain for himself, if from 
no other point of view than that of buying a thing to-day 
CO sell for two or three times the sum to-morrow. Then 
it suddenly flashed across him that Mr Skinner was stay- 
ing at Knightshayes. Of course they were in collusion. 
What a fool he had been ; they had striven to buy Dam- 
ocles for about a fourth of his value. John Bramton 
might know nothing about racing, but his business in- 
stincts were very wide awake to buying cheap and selling 
dear, and that the Earl and his confederate saw their way 
into that he made no doubt. 

‘Well,’ he muttered to hiniself, ‘folks who have tried to 
best John Bramton have generally got the worst of it. His 
lordship has tried to “ do ” me, and, in my way. I’ll just 
see if I can’t “ do ” his lordship. He wants something 
out of me ; I want something out of him. A regular 
game at cribbage between us ; but his lordship will find 
that I can lay out for my crib quite as cleverly as he can,’ 
and Mr Bramton quite chuckled at the game he was 
about to play with Lord Ranksborow.’ 

The first thing he did was to indite a diplomatic letter to 
the Earl, which, it was rather fortunate for him, did not fall 
under the eyes of his wife or daughters. He was dreadfully 
given, on these occasions, to drop into the idioms of his 
own business, and though somewhat suspicious of what a 
shrewd correspondent he was dealing with, the peer could 
not but laugh at some of the expressions in the letter. 

‘ I’m sorry I cannot yet give your lordship a definite 
answer about your offer for Damocles, but the fact I 
have got to consider is whether the goods, that is horses, 
will not sell better wholesale than by dropping into the 
retail business. In the event of the latter, your lordship 
may depend upon having the very first offer of the colt 
you are anxious to secure.’ 


62 


Long Odds. 

Lord Ranksborow laughed when he got this letter, but he 
was not in the least deceived by it. He was quite as astute 
a man in his own way as the master of Temple Rising. 

‘Skinner, my friend,’ he muttered, ‘you made a great 
mistake when you thought this man was a fool. He’s as 
sharp as a neddle ; he has already found out that these 
horses are valuable, how valuable he don’t know, but he 
is not going to sell them until he does. That he is very 
anxious to make my acquaintance, and be asked, with 
his wife and daughters, to Knightshayes is equally clear. 
Well, we are not in the habit of selling our hospitality, 
and that’s a very ugly name to give the transaction, but 
for all that, Mr Bramton, my taking you up depends en- 
tirely about what arrangement you make about Damocles. 
I can’t pay more for the colt than I have already bid, that’s 
“ pos.” I wonder if it will be possible to come to some 
other arrangement about it. Ha ! that would do, if he 
would simply keep him, and let me have the management 
of him. He’s not a man to stand on much delicacy with. 
I’ve no doubt, to use his own vernacular, he has done a 
good deal of “You push my shirtings, and 111 cry up 
your calicoes.” I must make him understand that my 
taking him up must be a give-and-take arrangement. 
The only thing is, an understanding must be come to as 
quickly as possible, or else, tempted by what he considers 
a rattling good offer, he’ll be selling the colt. Hang it ! 
Skinner was right. I shall have to play my trump card 
after all, and get the Countess to call. I thought I could 
have managed it alone, but the little dry-goods man is 
too cunning for me. He means that he and his are to 
have their legs under my mahogany, before he does what I 
wish. Yes, that must be my next move. I must tell the 
Countess to call’ 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SOUDAN’s on THE BOIL. 

It is the end of the Ascot week, and a depression seems 
to have fallen over that lively community yclept the 
Heliotrope. They don’t say much, they are mostly too 
good form not to take their punish'ment mutely, but there 


The Soudan s 07 t the Boil. 63 

are wan and weary faces amongst them, that show traces 
of an unsuccessful week^s battling with the bookmakers. 
The morrow is a day of rest, — little rest indeed to these 
unfortunates who know that their liabilities have to be 
adjusted on the Monday. 

Sitting in one corner of the smoking-room, holding 
anxious confabulation on that constantly-recurring 
problem, ways and means, were Lord Dartree and his 
equally impecunious friend and mentor, Jim Anson. 
Suddenly their attention* was attracted by a tall, dreamy- 
looking man, who lounged into the Temple of Nicotine 
with a bored, languid air, and looked wearily around for 
somebody on whom to inflict his weariness. 

‘Alec Flood! by all thads unfathomable!’ exclaimed 
Anson. ‘ Come here, Alec, and tell us all about your ad- 
ventures ; how you escaped being bowstrung by a pasha, 
knouted by a Boyard, eaten by a tiger, or kniled by an 
Italian.’ 

‘ How are you two fellows ? ’ replied Flood, as he shook 
hands with the twain. ‘That last shot of yours, Jim, was 
a shave ‘nearer than your guesses generally are, for I 
happened to be in Cairo at the time of that gambling- 
house row in which Dick Bramton was killed.’ 

‘The deuce you were 1’ exclaimed Anson. 

‘ Yes ; your brother Jack and myself. Dart, chanced 
to be present when the row took place. What took us to 
that confounded den, I don’t know.’ . 

‘ “ Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do,” ’ 
quoted Dartree demurely. 

‘Stuff and nonsense. Dart!’ exclaimed Jim Anson. 
‘Satan never bothers himself about you and Jack. He 
know'S he can rely upon your finding that for yourselves.’ 

‘You fellows knew Bramton, I daresay? I didn’t, but 
Jack did, as soon as he made out who he was.’ 

‘ Rather,’ said Dartree ; ‘ considering he owned Dam- 
ocles, the first favourite for the Derby, and was always 
a prominent figure at Newmarket, etc., we all knew him 
more or less.’ 

‘ Was it a big fight ? ’ inquired Anson. 

‘ No ; one of those short, sharp scuffles characteristic 
gf a gaming-house row. This poor fellow was knifed 


64 Long Odds. 

before we could get to him. Neither of us saw who struck 
the blow.' 

‘And how's Jack ? ' inquired Dartree. 

‘ Oh ! flourishing. Uncommon sick of Cairo, which he 
pronounces a hole. Says the Sphinx and the Pyramids are 
all very well, once in a way, but they pall on repetition. 
However, he and some of the other fellows out there think 
they’re going to fight something or somebody somewhere, 
and are looking forward to it. Awfully bored they must be, 
you know, when they are looking forward to a campaign as 
diversion. You fellows have been at Ascot, I suppose? ’ 

‘Yes,’ replied Jim Anson; ‘and, by Jove! don’t we 
wish we hadn’t. I never had such a week. Except when 
Damocles romped in for the New Stakes, I’m blessed if 
I turned a single trick ; and he was only a six to four chance, 
so there wasn’t much money to be made out of that.’ 

‘There, that’ll do, Jim ; don’t bore Flood by enumerat- 
ing all the losers we backed at Ascot. It’s sickening to 
look back upon. So Jack is pretty fit, is he? When 
does he talk of coming home ? ’ 

‘ He doesn’t see his way to it at all,’ rejoined Flood. 

‘ There’s trouble brewing up there in the Soudan.’ 

‘ Yes ; but that’s nothing to us,’ replied Lord Dartree. 

‘ Government have declared that they are not going to in- 
terfere in the Soudan.’ 

‘ Yes, I know,’ rejoined Flood. ‘ But when you rule 
an empire upon which the sun never sets, it’s all very 
well to say you won’t interfere with this, and you won’t 
interfere with that ; you can’t help yourself. Hicks’ ex- 
pedition to relieve El-Obeid, remember, terminated in 
the annihilation of his whole force. Baker’s attempt to 
relieve Sinkat and Tokar met a precisely similar fate. 
Now the result of these two disasters is this — an enormous 
(juantity of rifles and several Krupp guns and ammuni- 
tion have fallen into the hands of the Arabs. Naturally 
a most courageous race, they have now got their tails up, 
and there’s no holding them. They talk about sweeping 
the infidels from the face of the earth, and carrying fire 
and sword to Cairo and the gates of Stamboul. We may 
say that we won’t interfere in the Soudan, but it’s very 
probable that the Soudanese will interfere with us.’ 


The Soudan’s on the Boil. 65 

‘ By Jove ! ’ said Anson, ‘that’s a view of the case that 
has never struck our politicians.’ 

‘No; we are always preaching non-intervention, and 
then wind up by annexing a province two or three sizes 
bigger than the United Kingdom. We don’t want it ; but 
circumstances compel us to take it. We don’t want the 
Soudan, nor does anyone else, I should think, but our phil- 
anthropic tendencies have led us to interfere with their 
favourite pastime of slave hunting, while the Egyptian 
officials, on the other hand, in their anxiety to enrich them- 
selves, have ground the very souls out of the wretched 
villagers. No ; the Soudan is on the boil, and, to continue 
the metaphor, sooner or later, it will devolve upon us to 
take the kettle offi’ 

‘ Well, you’ve been out there,’ said Lord Dartree, ‘ have 
heard what people say, and therefore ought to know rather 
more about it than we do ; but nobody at home here 
thinks we are going to interfere in that imbroglio.’ 

‘ I suppose not,’ rejoined Flood ; ‘ but when the Arabs 
have got within a couple of hundred miles or so of Cairo, 
Her Majesty’s Government will awake to the situation 
and exclaim, “Halloa ! this sort of thing won’t do, you 
know.” ’ 

‘Well, you can’t be said to take a cheerful view of 
things,’ said Anson. 

‘Not at all. I’m only taking a common-sense one. 
Look at the blunder Government has made about the 
evacuation of the Soudan, loudly proclaiming their in- 
tention. When one wants to run away, one does it as 
quietly as possible. You don’t loudly announce that 
you’re going to do it.’ 

‘ Yes,’ said Dartree, ‘ to retreat silently is, I believe, an 
axiom in military tactics.’ 

‘Ah I and there is another axiom in the history of both 
schoolboys and nations ; the boy who won’t fight is 
always kicked. Other countries are always under the 
impression John Bull won’t fight, but too late they dis- 
cover he won’t be kicked. Origin this of half our wars.’ 

‘ Pity you’re not in the House, Flood,’ remarked Anson ; 
*you would make yourself so jolly unpopular, always 
carping at the Government arrangements.’ 

% 


66 Long Odds, 

‘Never mind/ replied the accused, laughing. ‘I'm 
never likely to be there, and to play the critic is an easy 
rdle. However, we’ve talked enough of the East, I think. 
Tell me a little what you fellows have been doing in the 
West.' 

‘Nothing,' rejoined Lord Dartree, ‘that is, speaking 
personally, and doing it, too, with our usual ability; 
haven't we, Jim ? ' 

‘Yes,’ said Anson; ‘but Dart has done something more 
than that. He has evinced great diplomatic talent. His 
father, as you know, is always at him to go in for Parlia- 
ment. Well, it occurred to Dart this winter that he would 
rather break his neck than his voice, and that the society 
on a racecourse was more select than the society at St 
Stephen's, so he took to steeplechasing, and, I assure you, 
made a very creditable debut between flags, carrying off 
two local steeplechases.' 

‘ Yes,' chimed in Lord Dartree, ‘ and the best of the 
joke is this, the governor is so delighted at my taking up 
one of the favourite hobbies of his youth, that he has 
ceased to bore me any more about Parliament.' 

‘ Of course he has,’ remarked Flood ; ‘ he sees you've 
taken up with a higher vocation.' 

‘ By the way,’ said Anson, ‘ you had no idea, when you 
saw Dick Bramton killed at Cairo, what a sensation his 
death was going to make in the turf world.' 

‘ How is that ? ’ inquired Flood. 

‘Well, for a long time we couldn’t make out what was 
to become of his horses. At last it oozed out he had left 
them all to his brother — a chap who don't know a horse 
from a cow. The obvious inference was that he would 
sell them, but he somehow discovered that racehorses are 
valuable property, and he is so afraid of being “ done '' 
that he can’t make up his mind what to do. He made 
his money in trade of some sort, and he is terribly afraid 
of not getting full value for the stud.' 

‘Racing is not much in my way,’ rejoined Flood, ‘but 
one of Bramton’s horses should be at all events worth 
money. It isn’t running in his name, but that’s nothing. 
I happened to see in the paper the other morning that 
Damocles won the New Stakes at Ascot It’s a very odd 


The Soudan's on the Boil. 67 

thing, but Dick Bramton^s dying words were a message to 
his niece to ‘‘ take care of Damocles .” ' 

‘The ruling passion,^ muttered Dartree. ‘My father, 
you know, was rather chummy with Dick Bramton, and I 
know from him that the dead man thought a lot of that 
colt. Curious, moreover, the present man has just bought 
a place in our part of the country.^ 

‘ Ah I I fancy I heard Jack say something about it. Now 
I'm off for a rubber,' and, with a nod to his companions, 
Flood strolled off to the cardroom. 


By this time there was a growing feeling in England 
that, whatever the Government might assert, their inter- 
ference in the Soudan was not only imperative, but was 
likely to cost considerable expenditure of life and money. 
The disasters of Hicks and Baker had been somewhat be- 
littled on account of the troops they were leading. These 
able and capable leaders, it was urged, could do nothing 
with the ‘ stuff they commanded.' We had still hardly 
grasped the fact that we had to confront an enemy not 
only of superb fighting capacity, but who, in his own way, 
showed great powers of strategy. Like most semi-civiiised 
foes, his great idea was an ambuscade, and in setting and 
luring his opponent into his trap he showed marvellous 
astuteness. It was all very well to say that well-tried chiefs 
like Hicks and Baker, more especially the latter, whose 
superb handling of the Turkish rearguard in the retreat 
from the Balkans is worthy to rank with Ney's similar 
heroic covering of the Grand Arm^e's retirement from 
Moscow, could do nothing with battalions whose nervous 
affections of the legs impelled them to take an opposite 
course to that which their commanders would fain lead 
them. But the fierceness of the foe we were soon des- 
tined to comprehend. 

The annihilation of Baker's expedition, and the literally 
painful cowardice displaced by the Egyptian troops upon 
that occasion, so emboldened Osman Digma and his 
Arabs that they actually now threatened Suakim; and 
the British Government could no longer disguise from 
themselves that, if the way to India by the Suez Canul 
and Red Sea was to be saved, it was high time that, like 


68 Long Odds. 

it or not, they should intervene. Sir Gerald Graham, at 
the head of some six thousand British troops, was selected 
to chastise Osman Digma and his following. This was 
done, and done effectually ; but the desperate resistance, 
and the reckless charges of the Arabs, fully explained the 
crushing defeats of inferior troops. How the Arabs 
would fight we learnt at El-Teb and Tamai. At the 
former, indeed, a boy of twelve dauntlessly, knife in hand, 
attacked two of our soldiers, paying the penalty with his 
life ; while at the latter, a square composed of some of 
our best troops was momentarily broken, and the for- 
mation not recovered till many of the enemy had got 
inside, where they ‘fighting fell.' But it speedily became 
evident that, able as was his lieutenant, Osman Digma 
the slave-dealer, with whose occupation we had inter- 
fered, the focus of the rebellion was with the Mahdi 
himself, and gravitating towards Khartoum. About the 
same time that Sir Gerald Graham was chastising the 
tribes round Suakim, Gordon made a sortie from the 
former place, the result of which was simply to show that 
the Egyptian troops could not be brought to face the 
Arabs ; two thousand of them, armed with Remingtons, 
being upon this occasion sea tered and put to flight by 
some sixty wild horsemen of the desert, wfliich made it 
pretty clear to Gordon, to whom had been confided the 
task of withdrawing the Egyptian gnrrisons from the 
Soudan, that though it might have been possible once, 
it was now too late, and without the aid of the British, 
those Egyptian troops would never return to their homes 
in Egypt proper. Still the Government is very deter- 
mined not to intervene in the Soudan, forgetting that it 
has already done so, and that, having undertaken to pre- 
vent anarchy in Egypt, it was difficult to lay down hard and 
fast rules, — that you could no more say, ‘ I will be respon- 
sible for order in this part of Egypt, but not in that,' than 
a doctor could say, ‘ I will have no fever in this part of 
my patient's body, but will take no heed to the rest.' 

However, with the suppression of Osman Digma 
operations in the Soudan came to a conclusion for the 
present, the English Government fondly hoping that they 
were done with that question. True, it was urged that 


The Bramtons make their Dibut. 69 

after the battle of Tamai there was nothing to stop 
Stewart’s cavalry riding into Berber, but it was argued 
that nothing could come of such an advance ; that the 
road from Suakim to Berber would be no safer after l:he 
cavalry had passed than it was at present, and, indeed, 
except the moral effect, it is hard to see what result could 
have come of it; but then, in dealing with Eastern nations, 
moral effect is everything, and if ever there were people 
in this world who ought to be aware of that, it is our- 
selves. Again and again have we owed our existence in 
India to our military prestige; and had the matter been 
left in the hands of the military chiefs, it is probable that 
Berber would have been occupied ; and who shall say 
what moral support would have been afforded Gordon at 
Khartoum by the intelligence that the British horse were 
in Berber? But no, the British Government were ex- 
cessively anxious to wash their hands of this question of 
the Soudan, but found that, once having tarred its fingers, 
it was a matter of no little difficulty to get rid of it. As 
it is, the affair does not redound much to our credit, as 
the problem has been elucidated by the massacre of all 
the Egyptian garrisons, and the shameful sacrifice of the 
man we sent out to withdraw them. 


CHAPTER XL 

THE BRAMTONS MAKE THEIR Dl^BUT. 

Not very far from Temple Rising was Roseneath, the 
residence of Mr and ]\!lrs Berriman. Mr Berriman was 
a man who somewhat startled the inhabitants of that 
neighbourhood by his ultra-democratic opinions. It was 
a strongly Conservative district, and when he first came 
amongst them there had been some feeling against the 
master of Roseneath on account of his very Liberal views ; 
but when it was discovered that he was a thorough good 
sportsman, a staunch preserver of both pheasants and 
foxes, and that his Radical opinions were chiefly theor- 
etical, he speedily became a popular man in the county. 
As for Mrs Berriman, she was a jolly, good-tempered 
woman, who delighted in society, and was very catholic 
regarding it. There was nothing exclusive about Mrs Berri- 


70 Long Odds, 

man ; she knew everybody, and dispensed her hospitali- 
ties with a free hand. Her manner was just as frank 
and offhand to the Earl of Ranksborow as it was to the 
village apothecary. That Mrs Berriman should call upon 
the newcomers at Temple Rising, was as natural as that 
Mrs Berriman should give a garden-party. Mrs Berri- 
man^s parties were ^Qways popular. True some of the more 
exclusive people of the neighbourhood — the very finest 
porcelain of the community — turned up their noses at the 
inferior earthenware they encountered on such occasions, 
but having remarked that ‘ poor Mrs Berriman’s parties 
were really getting so very mixed, they didn't know what 
to say about going,' they went. 

The Bramtons looked forward to this entertainment 
not a little. It was a stepping-stone to making the acquaint- 
ance of the neighbourhood. John Bramton and his wife 
were naturally both sociable and hospitable people, and 
would be only too happy to dispense cakes and ale to their 
neighbours, if only those neighbours would let them. 

Now a thing had come to pass, the last two or three 
weeks, at which Mr Bramton hardly knew whether to be 
pleased or annoyed. When this much-talked-of colt 
Damocles cantered in for the New Stakes at Ascot, 
there was of course much talk about whom he belonged 
to. He had run in the name of the trainer, but it was 
pretty generally understood that Stubber was not his real 
owner, and it then transpired that the horse was the pro- 
perty of Mr Bramton. This, as we know, was not exactly 
the case, but it seemed so natural that the dead man 
should have left his property to his brother, that nobody 
dreamt of questioning the statement. Mr Stubber him- 
self was quite under that impression, and saw no object 
in making a secret of it ; equally are Mr Skinner and 
the Earl of Ranksborow under that belief, so it is 
very little wonder that Mr Bramton is regarded as the 
owner of Damocles. 

‘ Pwoperty of a wetired linen-dwaper, I'm told,' ejacu- 
lated young Pontifex of the — th Dragoon Guards, as he 
joined the drag to which he was affiliated for luncheon. 

He had not backed the winner, and his own father 
had been a cheesemonger, whereas Mr Bramton had, 


The Bramions make their DibuL J\ 

at all events, been a wholesale dealer in such goods as he 
traded in. 

Two or three of the sporting farmers, and some of the 
few of the gentleman around, when they met Mr Bramron, 
had congratulated him upon the triumph of his horse at 
Ascot, some of them adding in a jocular way that they sup- 
posed next year the bells would be ringing at Temple Ris- 
ing, an ox would be roasted whole, and a hogshead of home- 
brewed broached, in honour of the victory of Damocles at 
Epsom. Now Mr Bramton took all this very awkwardly. 
Guided by the lights of his whole life, he felt that to be 
the possessor of ^ racehorse boded his destruction ; that 
men would stand aloof from him \ and, though he didn’t 
quite understand how, yet that there was a great expendi- 
ture of money connected with the ownership of this sort 
of property. That was his theory, but his shrewd com- 
mon-sense showed him the reverse was the case. He could 
not but see that his sporting neighbours looked upon it as 
quite a feather in his cap to be the owner of such a ‘ flyer ’ 
as Damocles. Mr Stubber, in a letter which he had re- 
ceived from him, congratulated him upon having won 
fifteen hundred pounds in stakes, on his horse having dis- 
tinctly established himself as a first-class two-year-old, 
and again asseverating that the value he had placed upon 
him a fortnight ago was not a penny too much, and im- 
ploring him not to be tempted to sell. 

‘ If, sir,’ continued Mr Stubber, ‘ you will allow me to 
advise, I would suggest, if you do not want to continue 
racing, your putting up the stud for sale during the July 
Week, with the exception of Damocles and old White- 
chapel, whom I want to lead him in his work.’ (‘Now I 
wonder what he means by that?’ muttered Mr Bramton to 
himself, as he perused the letter.) ‘The ybung one is as 
sound as a bell, and, I assure you, bids fair to be a perfect 
gold mine to you.’ 

Now Mr Bramton could quite understand all this. It 
was very pleasant to learn that his property was improving 
in value — or rather his daughter’s — to learn that they had 
won a stake worth fifteen hundred pounds ; and then he 
thought it was very odd that it hadn’t been sent to him, and 
remarked to himself that if that was the way Royalty did 


72 Long Odds, 

business, he could only remark that it was somewhat lax ; 
then he wondered whether the Queen or the Chancellor 
of the Exchequer was the proper person to write to on 
the subject, and finally concluded that he had better take 
counsel with the Earl of Ranksborow. 

Between this nobleman and Mr B ram ton there had been 
much finessing. The Countess had called, and, loyal to 
her husband’s instructions, had skilfully dangled the bait 
of a dinner at Knightshayes before the eyes of the family ; 
but she had not named the day. On the other hand, Mr 
Bramton had been equally indefinite on the subject of 
Damocles. He did not altogether decline the Earl’s offer, 
but then he most distinctly did not accept it. The noble- 
man did not like to stir much in the matter. He had got 
to the length of his tether, and knew he was offering no- 
thing like the value of the horse. He was afraid that 
Bramton already suspected as much, and to press the offer 
would only confirm those suspicions. But time went on. 
As Artemus Ward remarks, ‘ It’s a way time has.’ Dam- 
ocles won the New Stakes, and then Lord Ranksborow re- 
cognised that to purchase him was out of his power. His 
sole hope now was to get the control of the horse. That, 
he thought, should not be very difficult. Mr Bramton, 
knowing nothing about racing, would probably feel flat- 
tered and grateful to a man like hirpself for taking the 
management of his ‘ crack ’ off his hands. Then, again, he 
knew the Temple Rising people set a high value on the 
friendship of Knightshayes, so that the Earl announced to 
his Countess that dinner must become a reality, and that 
as soon as, with regard to due notice being given, could 
be managed. Having failed to buy the colt himself, the 
next thing was to persuade John Bramton on no account 
to part with it 

‘ We must do it, Louisa. I have too much depending 
on Damocles winning next year, to throw away any chance 
conducive to it It won’t bore you very much. As for the 
Miss Bramtoms, they are pleasant, ladylike girls enough, 
and though the father and the mother are atrociously 
vulgar, yet they’re so naive with it, that it becomes more 
amusing than offensive.’ 

‘ Oh ! I sha’n’t mind it,’ laughed her ladyship. ‘ The only 


The Bramtons make their Dibut. 73 

one trouble about it is their charming ndivetk is somewhat 
provocative of laughter, and the Miss Bramtons, bear in 
mind, are jealously sensitive about their parents’ mistakes.’ 

‘ You may quite rely upon me upon that point,’ rejoined 
the Earl, ‘though they try one rather high at times.’ 

‘ That’s settled, then,’ rejoined the Countess. ‘ I’ll write 
at once, and ask them to dine here Friday week. I shall 
meet them, most likely, at the Berrimans’. All the neigh- 
bourhood will be there to-morrow, I suppose ? ’ 

‘ Except myself,’ replied the Earl. ‘ However, Berriman 
does the thing well, and all that can be made of a garden- 
party will be done.’ 

The Temple Rising people were very pleased with their 
debut at Roseneath. Good-natured Mrs Berriman never 
did things by halves, and she introduced the Bramtons in 
all directions. Mankind is prone to novelty, and the girls 
being pretty and attractive, soon drew several admirers to 
their side; amongst these was Sir Kenneth Sandiman. 

Sir Kenneth was a man about forty, who having pretty 
well dissipated the small inheritance with which he began 
life, was now seeking to repair his fortunes by a wealthy 
marriage. He had already heard of the Bramtons, and 
no sooner did he set his eyes on the girls than he thought 
his opportunity was come. He was a proud, conceited 
man, with an exaggerated idea of his own importance. 
He had never distinguished himself in any way, and really 
carried very little weight in his own county or anywhere 
else. The baronetcy was an old one, and had he felt free 
to wed according to the dictates of his nature, Sir Kenneth 
would have aspired to alliance with the peerage. As it 
was, he must marry money, and he considered that the 
transforming of Miss Bramton into Lady Sandiman was 
an honour quite sufficient to turn the head of either girl. 
A tradesman, as he argued superciliously, who could afford 
to buy Temple Rising must be rich. The girls really 
were very pretty, and inquiry told him there was no son. 
Yes, it would do very well ; old Bramton would doubtless 
be delighted to give his daughters handsome dots if they 
married to his satisfaction, and it wasn’t likely they could 
hope to be anything higher than Lady Sandiman. The 
idea of a rebuff never even entered Sir Kenneth’s head. 


74 Long Odds. 

There was only one difficulty, which he confidentially told 
Mrs Berriman. 

‘ I can’t see any myself,’ returned his hostess bluntly, 
with all a good-natured woman’s wish to forward a suitable 
marriage. ‘You’re just the age. Sir Kenneth, that a man 
ought to settle down. Either of those girls would bring 
you a good lump of money, and do you credit as a wife.’ 

‘ My dear Mrs Berriman, you don’t quite understand 
me,’ said the fastidious baronet, ‘the trouble is, I can’t make 
up my mind which I admire most.’ 

‘ Upon my word,’ rejoined his hostess, ‘ I don’t think 
that need trouble you this afternoon. You can’t possibly 
expect to make such rapid progress as to render any de- 
cision on that point necessary to-day.’ 

‘I don’t know,’ rejoined Sir Kenneth languidly. ‘Eligible 
men with a position to offer are soon snapped up in these 
times.’ 

‘ Pooh ! Sir Kenneth,’ replied Mrs Berriman, ‘ don’t 
)^ou talk about position and all that sort of thing to demo- 
crats like us. Don’t you know that my husband is an 
advanced Radical, who is all for doing away with titles 
and such like frivolities.’ 

‘ Just so,’ replied the imperturbable baronet. ‘ Govern- 
ment will make him a baronet some day, and then you’ll 
see how he’ll change his opinions.’ 

Mrs Berriman shook her fan merrily at him as she 
replied, — 

‘You’d better go and have a good think, and, when 
you’ve made up your mind, commence your courtship. 
I have introduced you, so that everything lies at your 
own discretion.’ 

‘Well, Mrs B.,’ said John Bramton, in an undertone, 
‘ how are you getting on with the aristocracy ? A more 
affable set of gents I never saw in my life ; but they seem 
to think a deal more of me as the owner of Damocles 
than as the owner of Temple Rising. I’ll tell you what, 
my dear, it’s getting awkward. On the strength of that 
blessed horse, they will have it that I’m a sportsman ; one 
of the right sort they say. Well, I hope so ; but I don’t 
feel very sure about keeping it up. What do you think, 
I have promised to subscribe to the hounds.’ 


The Bramtons make their Dibut 75 

* 0 h ! John, what made you do that? You know you 
were never out hunting in your life/ 

‘ No ; but I haven’t said anything about following 
them, you know. This keeping up the character of a 
real sportsman is rather expensive, Margaret. There 
was another fellow said he knew Pd give them a pony 
for their local races, and when I said that I didn’t hap- 
pen to have such a thing in the stable at present, he 
poked me in the ribs, and said, “ I would have my little 
joke, and that he should put me down for twenty-five 
pounds,” and, what is more, he did 1 ’ 

‘Well,’ said Mrs Bramton, ‘I suppose one must 
subscribe to all these sort of things when one lives in 
the country.’ 

‘ The country seems to think so. There’s a parson who 
got hold of me, hoped I would allow him to put me 
down for the cricket club; had no doubt I played. 
However, I lost no time in dispelling that illusion. I 
told him he could put me down for the club, but added 
emphatically that I only looked on. There was another 
fellow, too, very anxious to discuss a division of the water 
with me, and when I told him that he might have it all 
as I didn’t do much in that way, he thanked me pro- 
fusely, and said it was the best stretch of fishing in the 
county. I’m rather sorry I gave it him now, for if I am 
to set up as a sportsman, fishing strikes me as the safest 
line to come out in 1 ’ and then Mr Bramton strolled 
away again, to be once more bewildered by the attentions 
of his sporting neighbours, who could not be convinced 
that the brother of so well-known a racing man as Richard 
Bramton could be anything but a gentleman learned in 
horse-flesh, and of sporting tendencies. 

Sir Kenneth Sandiman, meanwhile, had commenced 
operations in good earnest. He had walked Miss Bram- 
ton clear of the general crowd, and, having disposed of 
the usual conventionalities customary in our first inter- 
course with strangers, was fast settling down into an 
incipient flirtation with his fair companion. Matilda 
Bramton was no novice at the game — quite able to take 
care of herself, and as much disposed to while away an 
hour or two in this harmless amusement as her cavdier. 


76 Long Odds, 

She laughed at his pretty speeches, and put but little 
value upon them; and when they parted, mutually well 
pleased with each other, nobody would have felt more 
astonished than herself if she had been told that Sir 
Kenneth Sandiman had serious intentions concerning her. 


CHAPTER XIL 

THE DINNER AT KNIGHTSHAYES. 

‘ Well, Lucy, what did you think of our party to-day ? ^ 
inquired Miss Bramton as she came into her sister’s 
room, just previous to dressing for dinner. 

‘They were a pleasant lot of people, and seem in- 
clined to be civil. There was one thing rather interested 
me, and that was I heard Lady Ranksborow telling Mrs 
Berriman that Mr Flood had returned to England. He 
is evidently well known down here.’ 

‘ Flood — Mr Flood ? Ah ! I remember. One of the 
gentlemen who took care of you in Cairo. More to 
the purpose, my sister, if it had been the other who had 
come home, wouldn’t it ? ’ 

‘ I don’t suppose it much matters ; but I saw a good 
deal more of Captain Cuxwold than I did of Mr Flood. 
However, they were both as kind as they knew how to be.‘ 
‘ Well, I’ve no experience of soldiers ; but they’ve a 
general reputation for being rather good at making them- 
selves agreeable when they choose. What did you think 
of my cavalier. Sir Kenneth ? ’ 

‘ He was extremely attentive ; in fact, quite as devoted 
as it was possible for a man to be at a first interview. I 
should say, Matilda, he was rather struck with you ! ’ 

‘ Oh, you goose ! ’ said Miss Bramton, laughing mer- 
rily ; ‘that’s only his natural manner. Sir Kenneth can't 
help it. He is one of those men who would make love to 
a petticoat if he met it on a clothes-line. He is a con- 
firmed flirt, and, I should think, never had serious in- 
tentions in his life. However, he was very pleasant this 
afternoon. Was there any talk of Mr Flood’s coming 
down here ? ’ 

‘ Not that I heard,’ replied Lucy ; ‘ in fact, all I dis- 
covered about him was what I told you.’ 


The Dinner at Knightshayes, yy 

Now it was an odd thing, but it had never as yet 
occurred to Lucy, to connect the Captain Cuxwold she 
had met in Cairo with the Ranksborow family; firstly, 
she had no idea that he was entitled to the preface of 
the Honourable Captain Cuxwold ; and secondly, until 
this afternoon, she had really not known the Earl of 
Ranksborow’s family name. The presence of Lady Jane 
and Lady Emily Cuxwold at Mts Berriman’s party had 
certainly opened her e} es, and made her speculate as to 
whether the dragoon she had known at Cairo was any 
connection of the Ranksborow family, but it still never 
occurred to her that he was a junior scion of the house. 
Neither she nor her sister were much given to a study of 
the peerage, although the probability was that they would 
now, at all events, read up the Ranksborow tree, if only to 
ascertain the exact ages of Lady Jane and Lady Emily, — 
there being always much exultation in the feminine mind 
on convicting a sister of a year or two more than she ac- 
knowledges. Lucy most certainly would have liked to meet 
Mr Flood, if only for the purpose of inquiring about his 
friend ; but she had heard nothing that led her to believe 
chat his appearance in Barkshire was expected at present. 

As for Mr Bramton, the result of the Berrimans’ party- 
had been most titillating to his vanity. He had found 
himself looked upon as a man of no little importance, 
but he was too shrewd not to see that the possession of 
Damocles weighed heavily in the estimation of his 
neighbours. There was no question now of selling the 
horses ; on the contrary, he felt so proud of the distinc- 
tion that the owning of a racing stud seemed to confer 
upon him, that he quite forgot it was the property of his 
daughter and not of himself. The neighbourhood was 
determined to regard him as a sportsman. He was not 
the first man whom circumstances have thrust into a role 
for which they are perfectly unfitted ; but it was no use 
denying it. Disclaims on his part were only met with 
polite incredulity, and, with the exception perhaps of 
the Earl of Ranksborow, there were none who did not 
believe that John Bramton was a good all-round sports- 
man, but especially that he was a very knowing hand 
about turf matters. Several men that afternoon had 


78 Long Odds, 

sought to draw him into racing conversation; his reti- 
cence thereon, which was due merely to ignorance, was 
out down to astuteness, and they one and all believed 
that he could tell them a good deal if he chose to speak. 

Ah ! how often we are condemmed out of our own 
mouths ; how many of us might be credited with wisdom 
if we could but hold our tongues. 

One thing certainly filled Mr Bramton with misgivings, 
how was he to keep up this cheaply- won reputation? He 
knew he could not sustain it in the saddle, and he was 
conscious of li-.ving accepted sundry hazily-defined invi- 
tations to ‘ shoot when the season began.’ True there were 
rather over two months before, as he remarked to himself, 
that casualty could occur, but he could not disguise, as 
he thought of these invitations, that his knowledge of 
firearms went no further than shooting for nuts at a fair. 
The last words of the gentleman whom he had uninten- 
tionally obliged about the fishing had been, ‘ Of course 
ril drop you a reminder; but mind you’re pledged to 
come to me on the first.’ 

‘ Can’t say where I may be on the first,’ murmured 
Mr Bramton, ‘ but it certainly won’t be at the house of 
that bloodthirsty bird-slayer.’ 

But there was another section of the turf world vastly 
moved and puzzled by Mr John Bramton’s movements. 
Mr Skinner had been duly informed by his employer 
of his utter failure to purchase Damocles, and he in his 
turn informed the Earl that there was a growing anxiety 
to know what Mr Bramton meant to do with those horses. 

‘ Resolves itself,’ said Mr Skinner, ‘ into the great fact 
that your lordship has got all the yearling books about 
the colt, and, judging by his debut^ it looks very much 
as if he had a great chance of winning the Derby. 
Now you will excuse my saying that your lordship didn’t 
exercise your usual discretion when you accepted 
twenty thousand to three hundred from James Noel. 
It is very rarely that anybody wins long odds from him, 
and, though as long as the colt is with Stubber no harm 
will come to him that his trainer can possibly guard 
against, yet there’s something in what one of the most 
straightforward bookmakers said in my hearing only 


The Dinner at Knightshayes, 79 

yesterday about Damocles, “We needn’t bother our heads 
much about that one. Jim Noel has laid him, and it’s 
wonderful how a horse comes to grief when Jim has laid 
long odds against him.” ’ 

The Earl was much exercised about this letter. He had 
never stood to win such a stake over a horse in his life as 
he did over Damocles for next year’s Derby. He knew 
Mr James Noel — nobody better — and could but admit 
that there was reason in what Skinner told him. As for 
Bramton, he hadn’t quite made up his mind about him. 
That the man was sharp enough he had no doubt, that he 
knew anything about racing he thought extremely ques- 
tionable ; if he did, then all he could say was that John 
Bramton played the innocent better than any man he had 
ever seen. But his own opinion was that his ignorance 
w^as not feigned; and yet, the Earl reflected, the owner of 
Temple Rising seemed to have determined to act on his 
own judgment in racing matters. However, the Earl’s 
stay at Knightshayes was drawing to a close ; but before 
it was over, it had been arranged that the Bramtons 
should dine there. The Ranksborows were people who 
broke the London season by taking an occasional run 
down to their country seat. On the present occasion 
the Countess and her daughters had come down for a 
somewhat prolonged edition of the Whitsuntide holidays, 
arid the Earl had joined them at Knightshayes after the 
termination of the Ascot week. At this dinner Lord 
Ranksborow felt that, if possible, he must come to some 
arrangement with his guest about the control of Damocles. 
I'he colt was entered in the July Stakes at Newmarket as 
well as having two or three engagements at Goodwood ; 
and from the style in which he had won on the Royal 
Heath, it did not seem likely that the penalty he was 
rendered liable to by his Ascot victory would interfere 
with his success for whatever he might be elected to run. 
Now this was exactly the control that the Earl wished to 
possess — the deciding for what races Damocles should 
compete — and although buying the colt was out of his 
power, he thought it very possible that he might fill the 
place of turf-adviser to John Bramton. In good sooth 
no one was better calculated for the post. He was not 


8o Long Odds: 

only an astute and veteran turfite, but, in the present in- 
stance, his interests and John Bramton’s lay in the same 
direction. The Earl had been much too long at the 
game not to recognise the truth of the old axiom that 
‘ A bet is never a bet till it is hedged.’ Standing as he 
did to win an enormous stake over Damocles, the more 
that colt distinguished himself in his two-year-old career, 
the better it would serve his turn ; every race the horse 
won would shorten the price against him for next year’s 
Derby, and afford the Earl the opportunity of attaining 
that halcyon, though rarely experienced, state of things 
known as ‘standing on velvet,’ whereby is, of course, 
meant the standing to win a comfortable stake with no 
possibility of loss. As before said, the Earl regarded Mr 
Bramton as unfeignedly ignorant of racing. He looked on 
Stubber the trainer as a straightforward, honest man, who 
could be thoroughly trusted to do his duty with the horses 
under his charge j but when it carme to pitting Stubber 
against such a perfectly unscrupulous turf tactician as 
Mr James Noel, Lord Ranksborow regarded it as pretty 
much the country yokel playing against a thimblerigger. 

‘ Stubber,’ he muttered, ‘ is no doubt straight enough ; 
but Noel, if he couldn’t get at the horse in the stable, 
would get at the jockey out. No ; a man wants to be 
master of every move on the board to play against him. 
If I can. I’ll play my own hand ! ’ 

The dinner party duly came off, and no sooner had the 
ladies left the room than Lord Ranksborow exclaimed, — 

‘ Come up to my end of the table, Bramton. I want to 
have a racing palaver with you. Why, I’ve hardly had an 
opportunity of congratulating you about Damocles’ victory 
in the New Stakes.’ 

‘Very good of your lordship. I’m sure. I’m sorry I 
couldn’t oblige your lordship ; but the fact is — ’ 

‘I’d no idea how good he was,’ interrupted the Earl, in an 
easy, off-hand manner; ‘and didn't offer you aboveaquarter 
his value. Your brother was a rattling good judge, and I 
knew he had a very high opinion of the colt. I know 
two things more now ; first, that your brother was quite 
right, and, secondly, that I can’t afford to buy Damocles.’ 

‘No judge of these things myself, but I suppose that 


The Dinner at Knightshayes. 8t 

horse is worth a tidy sum. Now, what should you say, 
my lord ? ’ 

‘ Couldn’t price him at all, Bramton. He’s worth a lot 
more than I offered you for him ; but I hope you’re not 
thinking of selling him. Let’s bring the Blue Ribbon to 
Barkshire, though I can’t afford to pay for the luxury of 
winning it.’ 

‘Well,’ said John Bramton, as hesippedliis port, ‘I’ve 
always found in business it’s a mistake, you know, to 
stand out too long. It’s always difficult to know when 
the top of the market is reached. You make a good spec’ 
say, and buy goods at 8o ; they run up to 1 15, and you say 
, at 120 I’ll sell; then comes a sudden drop, and you are 
perhaps glad to take 90 or so after all.’ 

‘ I hope you’ll allow me to guide you a little in this 
matter. You mustn’t think of selling the colt yet. I 
assure you, there’s a lot of money to be made out of him. 
Now, for instance, there are the July Stakes next month. 
I suppose you’ll run him for that ? ’ 

‘ I’m sure I don’t know. I didn’t know that he was in 
for such a thing. I’ve never even seen him yet. By the 
way, I don’t want to make any scandal, but, you know, I 
haven’t heard anything about that money I won at Ascot 
yet. I suppose I had better write about it?’ 

‘ I’ve not the slightest doubt Messrs Weatherby in Old 
Burlington Street have placed it to your account,’ replied 
the Earl, laughing. ‘ You must come down to Newmarket 
next month and see your colt run.’ 

‘ Ah ! I suppose it is the proper thing to do when you’re 
an owner of racehorses,’ and Mr Bramton thrust his thumbs 
into the armholes of his waistcoat and threw himself into 
his favourite pompous attitude ; ‘ but I leave most of the 
arrangements to Stubber, my fellow, you know — sort of 
medical man in charge of the horses, keeps ’em in health, 
and all that sort of thing.’ 

‘ I know him. Excellent man. No better trainer at 
Newmarket ; but it is as well to look after these sort of 
things yourself.’ 

‘ Quite so, quite so,’ replied Mr Bramton. ‘ The only 
thing is when you’re no judge of the goods, by which I 
mean the horses, it’s best to leave the buying and selling, 

F 


Long Odds. 

by which I mean the settling what they’re to do, to some- 
body who understands the business. Now, my lord, the 
only thing I can understand is putting these horses up to 
auction, and letting ’em go for what they will fetch. 
Stubber recommends me to do that, and I’ve told him to 
arrange to do it next month.’ 

‘ God bless my soul ! man,’ exclaimed the Earl excitedly, 

‘ you don’t mean to say you are going to put Damocles 
up for sale next month ? ’ 

‘ Bramton is joking,’ cried Mr Berriman, who had been 
listening to the conversation with no little curiosity. 

‘ You can’t mean to deprive Barkshire of the honour of 
taking its first Derby ? ’ 

‘ Y ou didn’t let me finish,’ said J ohn Bramton. ‘ Stubber 
advised me to sell the whole stud, bar Damocles and a 
horse called Whitechapel, which, it seems, he thinks 
necessary to “ lead the work,” whatever that may mean.’ 

Mr Berriman and the Earl laughed, and the former said : 

‘ It won’t do, Bramton ; it won’t do. Fellows talk 
“ horse ” very often who know precious little about it, 
but you don’t catch me taking long odds from a fellow 
who pretends to know as little about it as you do. Bless 
you, my boy, I’ve been had by the innocents in my day. 
We know all about the Heathen Chinee and the game 
“ he did not understand.” ’ 

If Berriman and the Earl did, Bramton did not. He 
had been a busy man all his life till quite lately, and his 
reading had been pretty strictly confined to the daily 
papers, and, as we know, there were some parts of those 
at which he never glanced. But one thing Bramton 
did understand, and that was that the general public 
were determined to regard him as a sportsman, and that 
his affectation of ignorance on the subject was regarded as 
a capital joke. In racing matters this is so constantly the 
case, that the man who knows nothing, and maintains a 
rigid silence, is always regarded as a model of astuteness, 
and when, considerably more to his own surprise than 
that of anybody else, the horse which he has not backed 
for a sixpence wins easily, he is credited with having won 
an enormous stake,, and having been a very Mepkisto- 
philes in the manipulation of the betting market. 


Lucy^s Innoculatiofu 


83 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Lucy’s innoculation. 

Lord Ranksborow, as they joined the ladies, was hardly 
satisfied with the results of his diplomatic dinner. Mr 
Bramton, while quite admitting that his ignorance of 
racing distinctly unfitted Jiim to determine for what 
stakes Damocles should run^ yet by no means seemed 
desirous of handing over such decision to his host. Mr 
Bramton, in his business days, had been apt to reckon up 
his fellows pretty accurately. He had come to the con- 
clusion that Mr Stubber was an honest, energetic man, 
who knew what he was about, and he thought it just as 
well that the management of the colt should be left 
entirely to him. The Earl had sounded his guest pretty 
freely on this point; but though John Bramton temporised, 
and did not positively decline to accept Lord Ranks- 
borow’s proffered services, yet he never for one second 
committed himself, and boldly made the request which 
the Earl had hoped, namely, that he would take the 
entire management of Damocles. He would go no 
further than saying that he was extremely fortunate to 
have a friend like his lordship, to whom he could always 
come for advice, but he would not pledge himself even 
not to sell the colt. He would go no further than say he 
should not part with him at present. He would hear 
what Stubber had to say after the others were sold, etc. 
In fact, the Earl rather ruefully came to the conclusion 
that John Bramton meant to take his own way in this 
business, and that his trainer would probably have more 
to say to the tactics of the stable than anyone else. 

‘ A deuced knowing shot this,’ mused the Earl, ‘ and 
perfectly able to take care of himself. They’ll not get 
Temple Rising out of him as they did from poor Moly- 
neux ; but, shrewd as he is, he has one weak point, and 
that point might cost him a lot of money, as it has done 
many others. He has a tremendous idea of his own 
importance, and that will be my safeguard about his 
sticking to Damocles. He has already discovered that 
owning the first favourite of the Derby adds to his im- 


84 Long Odds. 

portance. It will be easy to keep that feeling alive in a 
dozen different ways, and as long as his pocket is not 
touched too severely, he’ll not forego the swagger of the 
position.* 

In the course of the evening the Miss Bramtons were 
also made conscious of the pleasures of owning success- 
ful racehorses. Several trophies in the way of cups 
decorated both the dinner-table and the sideboard, which 
had been won by the Earl in the course of his turf career. 
Lady Jane Cuxwold, too, showed a handsome bracelet 
which her father had given her upon the occasion of his 
winning the Chester Cup some four years ago. The 
Earl was lavish to his family when fortune smiled upon 
him ; and when they saw the interest the Miss Bramtons 
took in it, the Countess as well as her daughters exhibited 
various specimens of the spoils of war. 

Lady Ranksborow was not a little struck by the keen, 
sensible inquiries that Lucy Bramton niade about turf 
matters. The girl evidently knew but little about them, 
but she was very persistent in her endeavours to under- 
stand the mysteries of racing. Her sister, on the other 
hand, gabbled on as young ladies are somewhat wont to 
do, saying it must be delightful to win races and get ban- 
gles, and that she was quite sure that she should delight 
in it ; that she had never seen anything of it yet ; but that, 
now her uncle had left them his stud, of course they 
should go everywhere. 

Now it must be borne in mind that though Mrs 
and Miss Bramton were perfectly aware that Richard 
Bramton’s property had been all left to Lucy, yet they 
pever proclaimed that fact, and were indeed honestly 
ignorant that these racehorses were not only hers, but 
that it was an open question whether they were not under 
her own immediate control ; that she could positively de- 
cide for what stakes they should run ; and that it would 
be a fine point for the lawyers whether Lucy, for instance, 
had not the right to strike Damocles out of all engage- 
ments. The young lady was very quiet, but she had a 
will of her own. Her uncle’s money she knew must come 
positively into her own possession when she came of age, 
and, besides the desire to carry out her uncle’s last wishes, 


Lucy's InnoculatioTi. 85 

her imagination had been highly inflamed by the victory of 
Damocles at Ascot. Then these Ranksborow people, who 
had all been brought up amidst the racecourse and the hunt- 
ing field, still further excited her, and she began to think 
that it would be rather a fine thing to be the owner of a 
few racehorses. Under the tuition of Lady Jane and Lady 
Emily, she made considerable progress in turf lore. That 
evening she ascertained that there was nothing out of the 
way in a lady keeping some, though they usually ran them 
in an assumed name ; and the result of all this talk was 
that Lucy resolved to ascertain at once how far her control 
really extended over Mr Stubber’s charges. For instance, 
she knew her father was contemplating the sale of the 
greater part of them. At all events she would write to 
Mr Pecker, and have a legal opinion as to whether this 
could be done in opposition to her wishes, should she 
think fit to decree otherwise. However, in the meantime, 
the appearance of the gentlemen changed the tenor of the 
conversation, and Miss Bramton, at all events, was soon 
immersed in her flirtation with Sir Kenneth Sandiman. 

‘Nice affable people the Ranksborows,^ said Mr Bramton, 
as they drove home. ‘ Not a bit stuck up. Being an owner 
of racehorses, you see, gives one. a sort of tone in society, I 
find. Bless you I they all seem to regard me as an authority.’ 

‘ I don’t see much use in it, if we’re never to go and see 
races,’ rejoined Miss Bramton, rather sharply. ‘ Lady J ane 
told me they always went to Ascot, and was quite sur- 
prised that we were not there to see Damocles win.’ 

‘Yes, papa, and they would not believe that we had 
never even seen him. I must see Damocles,’ said Lucy, 
with quiet but decided emphasis; and the girl was more 
than ever confirmed in her resolve to write to Mr Pecker 
on the morrow. 

‘Yes, John ; we really must go to the next fashionable 
gathering. I don’t know when it is, or where it is, but we 
must go.’ 

‘ Yes ; and it’s the proper thing to give your daughters 
bracelets or something of that sort when you win, papa,' 
exclaimed Matilda. 

‘ Yes ; and you must win, and you must do it,’ chorussed 
Lucy. 


86 


Long Odds, 

‘ I tell you what it is/ said Mr Bramton testily, ‘ if an 
owner of racehorses is liable to all these obligations, the 
sooner I’m out of the lot the better.’ 

‘ Oh ! you can’t do that, papa. Lady Ranksborow said 
she was sure you were too good a sportsman to part with 
Damocles before he had won the Derby.’ 

‘Well,’ said Mr Bramton, ‘I’m not sure I’m quite cal- 
culated to make a good sportsman ; it seems that there is 
a little too much expected of one. Now as far as a quiet 
day’s fishing goes, I don’t mind ; but this subscribing to 
the hounds, etc., I don’t exactly see.’ 

‘All quite necessary in your position, papa dear,’ said 
Miss Matilda. ‘I’m sure we’ve had a most delightful 
evening, and Sir Kenneth is a most agreeable man, worth 
a hundred of those old business frumps or young City 
prigs you used to bring home to dinner at Wimbledon.’ 

John Bramton relapsed into silence. The contest was too 
unequal — the ladies were all against him^ — and he found 
himself, so to speak, under such a cross-fire of conversa- 
tion that the holding of his tongue was the most discreet 
thing he could do; and in spite of the elation the being 
the reputed owner of Damocles had occasioned him dur- 
ing the evening, he thought, perhaps, that the sooner he 
got rid of the horses, which he had now quite learnt to 
consider his own, the better. 

‘What does Dartree say?’ inquired the Earl, as he 
entered his wife’s room, and found the Countess glancing 
over a letter in her son’s handwriting. 

‘I was so late that I hadn’t time to read it before din- 
ner,’ replied Lady Ranksborow; ‘but there’s nothing much 
in it, unless you consider this message to you of import- 
ance. “Tell my father,” he says, “that Damocles is very 
unsteady in the market. There’s a tendency to lay against 
him in somewhat dangerous quarters. No reason that I 
can hear of except they say that he will be offered for 
sale during the July week. Ask him if he knows any- 
thing about it.” ’ 

‘Know anything about it,’ said the Earl irritably. ‘I 
know as much about it as it’s possible to know with such 
a suspicious, undecided fool as Bramton to deal wuth.’ 

I think you’re wrong there. Rank,’ said the Count- 


Lucfs Innoculation. 87 

ess. ‘It strikes me Mr Bramton is no fool, whatever 
else he may be.^ 

‘ No, you're quite right, he isn't ; but he's so afraid of 
anybody getting the better of him, of his not making 
the very most of these horses, that it's impossible to 
wring a decided answer out of him about what he's go- 
ing to do with Damocles. He has eaten my mutton and 
drank my claret,' continued the Earl, laughing, ‘ under false 
pretences to-night. I asked him here for the purpose of 
getting a distinct declaration of his views on that very 
point. I wanted him to let me have the management of 
the horse ; but no, all I could get out of him was that 
he had not as yet made up his mind to sell Damocles, 
which I knew before.' 

‘You and Dart stand to win a big stake over this horse, 
don't you ? ' 

‘ Yes.' 

‘And would rather he remained in Mr Bramton’s 
hands than otherwise ? ' 

‘Just so,' said the Earl, with a nod. 

‘ Then you leave it to me and the girls. Rank. You 
needn't laugh ; we can do more for you than you think 
here. Jane and Emily, without intending it, have given the 
Miss Bramtons the racing fever to-night. We'll take care 
it don't cool. They’ll never let their father sell Damocles.' 

Lord Ranksborow laughed. 

‘ All right,' he rejoined ; ‘ do your best. Remember, if 
Damocles won, next day there would be an easiness in 
the money market to which for years we've been unaccus- 
tomed.' 

True to her resolve, the next morning Lucy wrote to 
Mr Pecker to inquire how her powers stood with regard 
to this proposed sale. Mr Pecker’s answer, which arrived 
in the course of two or three days, was clear and succinct. 

‘ With regard to the greater part of these horses, no 
(juestion arises. The condition of the will is, till they have 
run through their engagements. Most of them have been 
nominated by the late Richard Bramton, and such nom- 
inations are void by his death. Damocles and another 
two-year-old called Lucifer, both heavily engaged, are nom- 
inated by Mr Stubber, as also, it appears, is a five-year-old 


88 Long Odds. 

named Whitechapel, in one or two instances. The quesk 
tion, therefore, of your power to keep or sell under the 
codicil are confined to these three \ and, in the case of 
the latter horse, it will speedily expire, as his engagements 
will be fulfilled. With Damocles and Lucifer the case is 
very different, as their engagements extend over the whole 
of next year, and even into the year beyond. I have 
taken counsel’s opinion, and the result is that, though 
admittedly a very fine point, the authority I consulted 
thinks the codicil goes beyond a wish, and implies a con- 
dition of inheritance which might be legally disputed if 
not complied with. As far as we know, there is nobody 
to raise the question \ but, as a lawyer, I must say, “ Don't 
give a possible somebody the chanceP My racing experiences 
are of little value, but my advice to you would be to let 
these horses run through engagements at the discretion 
of their trainer. Mr Stubber has the credit of being a 
clever, straightforward man in his business, and, from what 
he told me, Damocles will more than pay all expenses.’ 

Bitten as Lucy was, but in much more genuine fashion 
than her father, with a strong inclination to dabble with 
the turf, this letter was eminently satisfactory. With 
her father, the possession or control of racehorses was 
merely a thing he desired because it increased his im- 
portance ; but Lucy’s imagination had been excited b) 
the Ladies Cuxwold, and she had begun to dream of see 
ing hei own horse and her own colours at Ascot, Good 
wood, or some of the great turf social gatherings. Mi 
Pecker’s letter told her that it behoved her to keep three 
of the horses, and amongst them Damocles, which, from 
what her uncle had told her, and from what she had 
heard since, she believed to be much the best horse she 
possessed ; and, indeed, it was to him she looked for the 
attainment of such social successes as she might attain on 
the racecourse. She looked forward to the time when 
she might become the heroine of the hour ; when she 
might be pointed out as the owner of Damocles, who had 
just won the principal race at Sandown. She had read 
only a little before that the Marchioness of Budleigh had 
appeared in the royal paddock at Ascot attired in a dress 
pf hpr husband’s racing colours. Then she wondered 


Mr Skinner is puzzled. 89 

what Uncle Dick’s colours were; and then came woman’s 
natural hope that they were pretty — thinking over as she 
was this matter of a dress of the same colours, it was 
highly essential that they should be so. For instance, 
she had read in this very account of somebody’s well- 
known jacket of white and gre^n spots proving triumphant. 
Now, what was any woman to make of a dress of that 
description? However, she supposed colours could be 
changed like other things ; and then, I’m afraid, it oc- 
curred to her feminine and uninstructed mind that it 
might be nice to change her colours as she did her 
dresses, or, at all events, once every season. She had 
yet to learn that a thorough turfite is devoted to his 
jacket — as proud of the banner which he had seen borne 
triumphant in a hundred frays as the soldier of the 
colours under which he has fought and bled. 

Then she fell to ruminating on Mr Pecker’s letter. 
Armed with, that she felt she could defy her father, who, 
though flattered, as above said, by the importance the 
ownership of Damocles conferred upon him, was too 
keen a money-maker not to sell the horse for a large sum 
if the matter rested entirely with him. As a matter of 
sport, Mr Bramton felt no manner of interest in the in- 
heritance that had come to his daughter ; as a matter of 
swagger, he no doubt did. But Lucy knew that her 
father’s old business habits would eclipse that as soon as 
the bait dangled before his eyes was big enough. Armed 
with Mr Pecker’s letter, she felt that she could do as 
she liked with her own, although a good year must elapse 
before she attained her majority. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MR SKINNER IS PUZZLED. 

‘Well, Stubber,’ exclaimed Mr Skinner, as he encountered 
the trainer coming home with his string from the Heath 
on the Monday in the July week, ‘ I see Dick Bramton’s 
horses are all up for sale, bar Damocles.’ 

‘ Not quite,’ replied the other as he walked his cob 
alongside the commissioner’s hack. ‘ My new employer 
U:^s kept Damocles and Whitechapel to lead him, at my 


go Long Odds. 

request; but I’ll tell you one thing more, Mr John 
Bramton may know nothing about things, but there is 
somebody pulling the strings who does. I wonder who 
has recommended him to keep Lucifer — never suggested 
it — but whoever did is a good judge.’ 

‘Promising, eh?’ remaiked Skinner. 

‘ Yes ; he is a smartish colt, though backward. I’ve 
never been able to try him pro})erly yet, but I’ve no 
doubt, before the end of the season, he will show himself 
what I tell you.’ 

‘ I suppose Mr Bramton never comes down to look at 
the horses ? * 

‘Never been down since they were his,’ rejoined the 
trainer ; ‘ never had an employer in my life who took so 
little interest in racing. I went to see him once, and I’ve 
\Nritten to him several times, and telegraphed to him 
besides, but I’ve only had one letter from him, and that 
was to tell me that I was to put all the horses up for sale 
this week, with the exception of the three mentioned. 
I’m very glad he’s going to stick to Damocles, and I’m 
glad he keeps Lucifer ; but what prompted him to keep 
the latter. Pm jiggered if I know.’ 

‘ It is odd where he got that hint,’ remarked Skinner. 
‘ Why, even I, who am always at it, didn’t know that you 
reckoned Lucifer smart. Of course I knew' you had got 
a colt of that name. Lucifer by Satan, out of Morning 
Star, is pretty heavily entered, but the very horse- watchers 
haven’t begun to talk about him yet’ 

‘ No ; and he won’t be seen out till the back end. If 
Mr Bramton had been a racing gentleman, I should have 
told him not to part with that one, but I w'as so afraid 
of his putting Damocles up for sale, that I didn’t like to 
go too far. Dam’me, he looks upon racehorses as not only 
expensive, but dangerous besides.’ 

‘ Well, good-bye, Stubber. I must go home and get 
some breakfast I don’t suppose the penalty will stop 
your colt in the Julys.’ 

‘ Not a bit of it,’ laughed the trainer ; ‘ he could carry 
five pound more, and win. Take advice, and though it is 
contrary to your rule, stand the favourite for once.’ 

‘ I think I must,’ replied the bookmaker, smiling, ‘if the 


Mr Skhmer is puzzled. 01 

odds on him are not too expensive. Good-morning. Fd 
give a sovereign/ muttered Mr Skinner to himself, ‘to 
know what induced John Bramton to keep Lucifer.’ 

Little escaped Mr Skinner’s notice. He would never 
have obtained the position he held, and the substance 
he possessed, had it not been for his faculty of close 
observation. It was a maxim with him that information, 
however trivial, was always worth picking up. A straw 
shows which way the wind blows, and racing men are 
wonderfully quick at catching a hint that will be of use 
to them in their vocation. Many a trifle like this had, 
when interpreted, helped Mr Skinner to make money. 
The mere fact of Lucifer not being offered for sale would 
suggest that the stable set store upon him; and his 
trainer freely acknowledged that they were sanguine 
about his turning out promising. But the bookmaker 
looked upon it that he h3,d caught a clue to something 
more than that — a clue to what, he had no idea — but 
what motive had John Bramton in excepting this colt 
from his approaching sale ? Damocles and Whitechapel 
he could understand, that was by the advice of his 
trainer, and it was quite likely that Bramton, after tast- 
ing the sweets of winning, might think that there was 
more money to be made by running Damocles than 
selling him. But these reasons did not apply to Lucifer. 
Stubber had most distinctly said that it was by no advice 
of his that the colt was kept, and whether he could win 
or not was yet to be seen. A shrewd, suspicious man, 
but with no great faith in anybody but himself, Mr 
Skinner turned this puzzle over and over in his mind 
as he walked his hack home to his lodgings. 

Lord Ranksborow had taken a much more correct 
estimate than his commissioner. True he had had many 
more opportunities of seeing the owner of Temple Rising 
than his agent ; but Skinner had fallen into the mistake 
that, because Bramton was simple and ignorant about 
the affairs of the turf, he was equally simple and foolish 
in other matters. Lord Ranksborow had divined this ; he 
saw that Bramton was a man who usually acted on his 
own judgment, and that if he sought advice eagerly about 
the disposal of these horses, it was not so much that he 


92 Long Odds. 

meant to take it, but really to learn the worth of and hoW 
to make me most of the property that had so unexpect- 
edly fallen into his hands. Could they but have known 
the real state of the case, and seen Mr Pecker’s last letter, 
both Mr Skinner and the Earl would have been not a 
little astonished. However, Mr Skinner could make no 
more of his puzzle at present than that Lord Ranksborow 
must have been the person who had inspired Bramton 
to keep Lucifer, and yet, somehow, he felt that was not 
the true solution. First of all, the Earl usually confided 
to him any piece of turf strategy which he had planned ; 
and secondly, what object could his patron have in the 
retention of Lucifer ? According to Stubber, they had 
never as yet fairly tried the colt, and their estimate of 
his merits was therefore conjectural. He was not a 
youngster for whom a long price had been paid, as in the 
case of Damocles, nor had he been talked about, nor his 
advent on a racecourse expected with all’ the interest 
and curiosity that had attended that of the latter. He 
doubted, indeed, whether Lucifer’s career as yet was not 
a matter of complete indifference to Lord Ranksborow, 
and then asked himself again, angrily, ‘ What the deuce 
made John Bramton keep that colt?’ Mr Skinner had 
passed much time, and not altogether unprofitably, in 
working out knotty points of this description. 

There were two other men also returning from the Heath 
after watching the gallops that morning, but these young 
persons were not riding, but trusting to their own legs to 
bring them back to town. 

‘ It’s a little hard, Sim,’ said the younger of the two, a 
fresh-complexioned young fellow of about twenty ; ‘ those 
horses will fetch a pot of money next week, and by rights 
I ought to have the biggest part of it.’ 

* If what you tell me is true,’ replied his companion, a 
sharp, wizened, preternaturally old young man, ‘it is rather 
rough. Richard Bramton must have left a good bit of 
money behind him, and if what you say is true, and you 
really are his son, he ought to have done something for you ; 
but nobody ever heard that Dick Bramton was married.’ 

‘ Well, it was many years ago, and I don’t suppose he 
was much older than I am now, and then he and mother 


Mr Skinner is puzzled. 93 

soon parted. They couldn’t get along together. I don’t 
want to say a word against her, poor thing, but you see, 
Sim, she had a temper, and what’s worse, she couldn’t 
leave the bottle alone. It’s not much wonder Bramton 
couldn’t get on with her.’ 

‘You will excuse my asking a question,’ said Simon 
Napper, ‘ I suppose you’ve got proof of this marriage ? ’ 

‘ No, I haven’t ; but mother always declared she was 
married.’ 

Mr Napper was an attorney’s clerk, and his profession 
taught him to put but little faith in an assertion that could 
not be corroborated. 

‘ And you’ve never been called by any other naipe than 
Robbins ? ’ 

‘ N o,’ returned the other. ‘ When my father and mother 
separated, it was a condition that she should resume her 
maiden name, and live away from Newmarket. He 
allowed her all he could at first, and latterly made her a 
fairly liberal allowance ; biit a little before her death he 
gave her a lump sum down.’ 

‘ I see,’ said Mr Napper ; ‘ he capitalised the allowance, 
and made it over to her to do as she liked with.’ 

‘Not altogether,’ replied Robbins; ‘she could only 
touch the interest during her life, but she could will it to 
whom she liked.’ 

‘And she, I suppose, left it to you?’ 

‘ Yes ; but what was the good of three thousand pounds? ’ 

‘ Good of it,’ returned Mr Napper ; ‘why it was enough 
to start any man with a head on his shoulders in any busi- 
ness. Why your father Dick Bramton began with nothing, 
and he left, according to all acounts, a pretty good pile 
behind him.’ 

‘Yes,’ returned Robbins; ‘but then he had such luck. 
Now, I never had any luck. If I back a horse, it’s sure to 
break down or do something awkward — go the wrong 
side of the post, or be disqualified for foul riding.’ 

‘ Strikes me, Master Tom, there was just this difference 
between yourself and your father, — he had a head on his 
shoulders, and mentally you’ve not. Didn’t he ever take 
any notice of you ? Didn’t he ever do anything for you ? ’ 

‘ No ; I never knew he was my father even till after 


94 Long Odds. 

his death. My mother was very ill then, and she told me 
the story, and vowed that she was really married to him. 
She said she had kept the secret, as she had promised, and 
would have still kept it had it not been for his death. A 
few weeks later, poor soul, and she followed him.’ 

‘ And he never did anything for you ? ’ 

‘ Well,’ replied Tom Robbins, in a somewhat shame- 
faced way, ‘ you know some three years ago, just about 
the time you were articled, you were astonished at my 
being taken into the bank. Well, mother said a very 
old friend of hers had managed that for her, and given 
her a liberal cheque for me to get a regular rig out with. 
As yoii know, it wasn’t many months before I got the 
sack. Mother was in a great taking about it; said I’d 
quarrelled with the best friend I had, who was very 
angry, and declared he’d do nothing more for me. Now 
I don’t know for certain, but I think that was my father.’ 

‘ Most likely,’ rejoined Mr Napper. ‘ Well, you ivere 
a fool, though, of course, you didn’t know how big a one 
at the time. Nothing is more likely than that you would 
have come into a big slice of Dick Bramton’s money if 
you had only kept straight. I suppose you’ve made a 
tidy hole in that three thousand pounds your mother 
left you ? ’ 

‘Yes,’ replied Tom Robbins; ‘I’m such an unlucky 
devil, I never win.’ 

Mr Tom Robbins was a weak-kneed, foolish young man, 
with no backbone to his character, with idle and vicious 
propensities, never likely to do any good for himself in 
this world, and who, had he had the slightest idea of his 
claim upon Richard Bramton, would have endeavoured 
to batten on him like a horse-leech. The very few people 
who knew anything about this episode in Richard Bram- 
ton’s earlier life would, I fancy, have put a very different 
complexion upon it. They would rather have laughed at 
the idea of there having been any marriage, and pro- 
nounced Dick Bramton thoroughly justified in not bind- 
ing himself for life to a woman of such violent temper 
and intemperate habits as Mary Robbins. Moreover, it 
might have been very plausibly argued that, if she had 
marriage lines to show, such a headstrong woman as Mary 


Mr Skimier is puzzled. 95 

Robbins would never have acquiesced in abandoning her 
position as a wife. Further, scandal rather credited her 
with being but a light o’ love at the best. 

‘ Well, I did think I should have taken something under 
his will,’ continued Tom, after a short pause. ‘ As Fve 
never heard from the lawyers anything about it, nor, 
indeed, what his will was, I suppose there is nothing for 
me. If I could only find that certificate, I suppose I 
should come into all.’ 

‘ That don’t follow at all,’ rejoined Mr Napper. 

‘ Richard Bramton could leave his money to whom he 
pleased, and from all I’ve heard, Dick Bramton was just 
the man to leave a son out in the cold who displeased him.’ 

‘ But it’s deuced unfair ! ’ cried Tom, in a lachrymose 
tone, ‘that everything should go to an uncle whom I’ve 
never seen. There might be something left to me ; there 
might be a recommendation to my Uncle John to lend 
me a hand. I should like to see that will.’ 

‘You are perfectly right there,’ rejoined Mr Napper ; 
‘ always seo a will in which you think there is any possi- 
bility of your being interested. It only costs a shilling, and 
it’s worth the trouble and outlay. On the off chance, I 
don’t suppose anything will come of it, but, as I said 
before, it’s worth spending a shilling over.’ 

‘ I’ll do it,’ said Tom ; ‘and now I must go home and 
write my report’ 

Mr Robbins at present held the responsible position 
of reporter at headquarters to a London sporting paper, 
and though so far he had never electrified its readers by 
any striking intelligence, yet he managed to get through 
his work well enough to retain his situation. 

‘ He’ll never come to any good,’ thought Simon Napper, 
as he mused over the above conversation. ‘ She didn’t 
like to acknowledge it, no doubt, but depend upon it, his 
mother never 7vas it^arried ; and a self-made, reliant man 
like Richard Bramton would have no patience with a 
feeble, feckless fool like that Tom little thought when 
he was kicked out of that situation, and used to be 
swaggering and vapouring about what a fast life he had led 
in London, that he was doing this under the nose of his 
own father, and a father, too, with a pot of money to leave..’ 


96 


Long Odds. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE JULY STAKES. 

The racing world were gathered together at the back of 
The Ditch for the celebration of one of the pleasantest 
meetings of the year. After the roar of Epsom and the 
crowd of Ascot the comparative quiet of the July Meet- 
ing is most enjoyable. Held in the midst of summer, and 
favoured as a rule with splendid weather, it enjoys also 
another distinct privilege — there is licence in the matter 
of dress. On the Royal Heath fashion demands the 
showiest costumes, and is inexorable about the chimney- 
pot on the part of the male sex. At Newmarket you may 
do as you please in the matter of attire, and defy the fierce 
rays of the sun as you so will it. Amongst those who 
had come for the sport were a considerable section who 
were quite as much attracted by the sales. To many men 
the looking over thoroughbred stock, the talking over how 
the youngsters are bred, the arguing about the different 
strains of blood, and, above all, how the prices for which 
the youngsters are sold coincides with their own judgment, 
is quite as interesting as the racing itself ; then there were 
the buyers always expecting to draw a prize out of that 
most capricious of lucky-bags, a yearling sale. Often as 
they have given long prices only to find that the youngsters 
who had fallen to the auctioneer’s hammer for a thousand 
and upwards were never destined to realise the high 
hopes entertained of them, still, carried away by the grand 
looks of some colt, or of a strain of blood that they 
peculiarly fancy, they take one more ticket in Fortune’s 
wheel, only to find once more that — 

‘ Legs are not steel, and steel is bent ; 

Legs are not rocks, and rocks are rent,* 
and that the high price purchase succumbs to the exi- 
gencies of training. 

The sale of the late Richard Bramton’s horses was not 
calculated to attract undue attention. Good, useful horses 
they were, and likely to sell well ; but everybody knew that 
‘the pick of the basket,’ Damocles, was not to be put 
up. That Lucifer also was reserved was noticed only by 
a few old hands. The colt had never run, and therefore was 


The July Stakes. 97 

almost unknown by name to the racegoers ; but amongst 
the few people whose attention it did attract were Lord 
Ranksborow, Mr James Noel, and Mr Simon Napper. 
For the first time since that memorable visit to Epsom in 
his youth, John Bramton had been fairly goaded into 
appearing on a racecourse. He had no idea of being pre- 
sent at Newmarket, or indeed any other race meeting, but 
the feminine pressure brought to bear had proved too 
strong for him. In spite of his first curt refusal, accom- 
panied by the comments that he had never heard such 
preposterous nonsense, and that Newmarket was no place 
for ladies, Mrs Bramton and her daughters returned 
again and again to the charge. Those comments of John 
Bramton had been injudicious. He had advanced reasons 
for his refusal, which, as Lord Chancellor Thurloe said, 

‘ you should never do.’ It^was speedily proved to him, on 
the testimony of the ladies Cuxwold, that there was no- 
thing at all preposterous in the idea, that ladies did go to 
Newmarket, and that very jolly it was. 

‘ Quite lovely ! ’ said Lady Emily. ‘Just a sailor hat and a 
muslin dress ; and you take a big hamper in the carriage, and 
picnic on the grass ; and you can get about, and haven’t 
all the horrid crowd of Ascot. I only wish papa would 
take us \ but he says he can’t afford a cottage this year.’ 

Supported by these authorities, Mrs Bramton and her 
daughters gave the head of the house no peace. He felt 
that he would have to yield. Mrs Bramton and the girls 
usually carried their point at last, and, therefore, John 
Bramton felt he might as well give in as prolong the 
struggle. Added -to which, Lucy privately urged that she 
ought to be allowed to see her own horses run, more es- 
pecially. as she was in a position, as she said, ‘ to pay for 
the lark.’ So it had been resolved that the whole party 
were to make their racing debut on the Heath, under the 
auspices of Lord Ranksborow. 

One trifling difficulty had presented itself. In the first 
instance. Lord Ranksborow had suggested a hack to 
Mr Bramton, but about this the master of Temple Rising 
was very positive. If it were not possible to see horse- 
racing except by getting on a horse, then he would con- 
trive to do without that sight. 

G 


98 Long Odds. 

The Earl laughed, and speedily reassured him, and said, 

‘ that, upon the whole, a good roomy carriage would pro- 
bably suit the whole party much better,’ and reassured for 
the present about Damocles, the Earl promised to act as a 
mentor in some sort, to see that their carriage was placed 
in a proper position, etc., and cordially accepted an invita- 
tion to come and pick a bit with them at luncheon time. 

A favourite expression of Mr Bramton’s was, ‘ I never 
go in for things by halves ; ’ and now, having gone in for 
racing, he was determined to act up to his favourite 
maxim. He sent down a roomy barouche and a pair of 
job-horses from London, and as for hampers, their size 
and number gave the idea that Bramton contemplated ask- 
ing half the Heath to lunch with him. He really was of a 
hospitable disposition, but this result was principally due 
to the absurd idea he had conceived of his own import- 
ance as the soi-disant owner of Damocles. He really did 
conceive that many of the leading patrons of the turf de- 
sired to make his acquaintance, and would probably have 
expected to be at once elected a member of the Jockey 
Club, had he remembered that such a body existed. His 
neighbours at Temple Rising had a little fostered this 
idea. He ignored the well-known axiom, ‘You may be a big 
man in the country, and a very small one in the metro- 
polis.’ Newmarket is the metropolis of the turf. 

The Miss Bramtons experienced much difficulty in re- 
straining their father in the matter of dress. True to his 
great principle of not going in for things by halves, Mr 
Bramton was excessively anxious to attire himself as a 
genuine racing man. How these arrayed themselves he 
did not know, but his own idea was evolved from his inner 
consciousness and a hazy recollection of the Hill at Epsom, 
and, but for the control of his daughters, John Bramton’s 
get-up would have been very striking. He had doubts as 
to whether top-boots were not a sine qua non for a pro- 
fessed owner of racehorses, but thisw^as finally compromised 
for a pair of extremely tight-fitting, horsey-looking cord 
trousers and a white hat, which the girls felt it was use- 
less to combat, and, besides, there was nothing remarkable 
in that, but a dust-coloured coat of very pronounced colour 
was the occasion of a long struggle, eventually terminating 


The July Stakes. 99 

in the defeat of Matilda and Lucy. Mr Bramton vowed 
he would go to Newmarket in that salmon-tinted garment, 
or he would not go at all ; and, thus attired, armed with a 
Brobdignagian pair of race glasses, made his first appear- 
ance on Newmarket Heath. 

Mr Bramton was not a little disappointed at the aspect 
of Newmarket. True to that one racing reminiscence of 
his juvenile days, he had pictured to himself all the 
knock-’em-downs, cocoa-nuts, nigger minstrels, and the 
other eccentric artists that swarm about the Hill at 
Epsom. The absence of this element depressed him. 

‘ Aristocratic, my dears,’ he exclaimed ; ‘ but don’t 
you think it’s just a leetle dull ? And if these are the 
swells, all I can say is they don’t dress up to the mark.’ 

And here Mr Bramton pulled up his shirt-collar, as 
much as to say that he, at all events, was not liable to 
that accusation. 

‘That flame-coloured garment of papa’s will be our 
ruin!’ whispered Miss Matilda to her sister. ‘What a 
happy thought that was of yours, Lucy, about the gloves.’ 

Lucy had ingeniously kidnapped a very bright-coloured 
pair of gloves that her father had elected to wear at the 
last moment, substituting a more sombre-hued pair in 
their place. 

And now the horses go leisurely down to the post for 
the Julys. 

‘Oh! papa,’ exclaimed Matilda, ‘what a hideous 
jacket yours is ! You really must change it’ 

Once more did Lucy, thoroughly agreeing with her 
sister on this point, inwardly vow that next year should see 
Damocles run in prettier colours. 

But the babel of the ring is stilled, the flag falls, and 
the field are away for the Julys. Hardly a sound breaks 
the soft summer air, and every eye is strained upon that 
cluster of gay jackets so rapidly nearing the spectators. 
The thud of the advancing hoofs now falls distinctly on 
the ear, followed by the cry of ‘ Prize-fighter wins ! ’ 

‘ Harlequin wins ! ’ Mr Bramton feels his head turning. 
He is fumbling with his glasses, and has lost sight of the 
horses, when suddenly rings through the air the clear, 
•listinct tones of Lord Ranksborow, — 


100 Long Odds, 

‘ A hundred to ten on Damocles ! Damocles wins 1 — 
wins in a canter ! ’ 

A couple of minutes more, up goes the number, and 
it is evident the EarFs verdict has been confirmed. 

‘Let me congratulate you, Mr Bramton,’ said Lord 
Ranksborow, as he raised his hat and reined up his horse 
by the side of the carriage. ‘ I don’t know what the 
judge’s verdict may be, but I’m quite convinced that your 
horse won easily. I am going to take the liberty of ask- 
ing you to give an old friend of mine some lunch. Let 
me introduce you to Mr Flood.’ 

Alec raised his hat, while a little hand was extended 
from the carriage to him, and Lucy exclaimed, — 

‘ Mr Flood and I are old acquaintances. I trust you 
recollect me ? ’ 

‘ Not likely that I should forget you, Miss Bramton,’ 
replied Alec, as he shook hands. ‘I have oftea wondered 
whether we should meet again, and little thought it would 
be here. I don’t very often trouble a racecourse, though I 
might have known it was not an unlikely place to meet you.' 

She could hardly have explained why, but Lucy felt 
a little nettled at this remark ; and yet she had been 
dying to pay this visit to Newmarket. Her horse was suc- 
cessful, and everything promised to make the day couleiir 
de rose. She wanted to meet Flood, but she was conscious 
that she would rather have met him anywhere else. 

‘ There you are wrong,’ replied Lucy. ‘ I have never 
been on a racecourse before, and if it hadn’t been for 
my poor uncle’s death, should probably have not been 
here now ; but Damocles, you know, was his horse, and 
we were all anxious to see him win just once.’ 

‘ Of course ; I understand now. By the way, I remem- 
ber hearing that the stud became your father’s property. 
I must congratulate you, Mr Bramton.’ 

‘Very good of you, I’m sure. Yes ; they tell me that 
horse of mine is a regular “ sneezer.” At all events, he 
keeps winning, which is satisfactory. But just give your 
horse to one of the men there to hold, and come up on 
the box and have some lunch.’ 

‘ Don’t you think, Mr Flood, we have the most hideous 
jacket there is registered? Papa, you really must change it’ 


The July Stakes. loi 

‘ Good heavens ! don’t be so rash, Miss Bramton,’ 
cried Lord Ranksborow. ‘You can’t do more than win. 
Any old race-goer will tell you, as I do, that to change 
your jacket is to change your luck.’ 

‘ Poor Uncle Dick used to say that they might not be 
pretty, that wasn’t in his way ; what he liked about them 
was that they were good to see.’ 

‘ Ridiculous I ’ exclaimed John Bramton. ‘ Here am I, 
with a spic-span new pair of Voigtlander’s glasses, and I’m 
blessed if I could ever see ’em at any part of the race.’ 

‘ There is a little knack in distinguishing colours through 
a race-glass,’ said Ranksborow; ‘you will soon get into it. 
And now, Mr Bramton, you must come with me, and walk 
across and say something pretty to Slubber. Quite the 
correct thing, I assure you, and I must say he has done 
your colt every justice.’ 

‘ Oh ! well,’ said Mr Bramton, ‘ I shall be only too 
happy, if it’s the correct thing. I’m always anxious to do 
the correct thing, your lordship.’ 

The Earl had given his hack over to his groom while 
he made his modest lunch at the Bramtons’ carriage. 
Making a sign to the lad to follow him, he and his en- 
tertainer now walked off in search of the trainer, upon 
meeting whom Mr Bramton was destined to be still 
further astonished. Lord Ranksborow shook hands with 
Slubber, congratulated him upon landing the Julys, and 
complimented him upon the condition of his horse, wind- 
ing up by saying, — 

‘ I have brought Mr Bramton to talk to you.’ 

‘ Hope you’re satisfied, sir,’ said Stubber, as he touched 
his hat. 

‘ It’s the correct thing to be affable ; all the swells do 
it, I see,’ muttered Mr Bramton, sotto voce^ ‘ so here goes. 
How d’ye do, Stubber? Very glad to see you, Stubber. 
You do Damocles great credit, or Damocles does you, 
which is it ? ’Pon my w’^ord, I don’t know ; but if you’ll 
just come across to my carriage we’ll have a glass of 
champagne over this.’ 

‘Yes, and a right good glass, too,’ chimed in the Earl. 
^ You ought to drink Mr Bramton’s health on his first 
appearance on the Heath,’ and with these words the Earl 


102 


Long Odds. 

signalled to his groom to bring up his hack, and left Mr 
Bramton and his trainer to celebrate their victory. 

‘ Have you heard lately from Captain Cuxwold ? ^ asked 
Lucy, as her father and Lord Ranksborow left the carriage. 

‘ Not very lately,’ replied Flood. ‘ But why don’t you 
apply to headquarters?’ and Alec jerked his head in the 
direction of the retreating Earl. 

‘ I was wondering only the other day,’ replied Lucy, 
‘ whether he was connected with the Ranksborow family.’ 

‘ Pretty closely,’ rejoined Flood, laughing; ‘he is a son. 
I wonder you didn’t guess that long ago. Surely you 
knew he was the Honourable Captain Cuxwold, at Cairo ? ’ 
‘ No,’ replied Lucy. ‘ I only knew that he was Captain 
Cuxwold ; then, again, we have only known Lord Ranks- 
borow and his family quite lately, and I must plead guilty 
to being supremely ignorant about the peerage. It was 
only the other day that I knew Lord Ranksborow’s family 
name. But you have not answered my question ? ’ 

‘ I heard from Jack not long ago. Of course you know 
he was up with Sir Gerald Graham at Suakim, and you must 
have read in the papers what the fighting was like up there.’ 

‘Terrible,’ rejoined Lucy ; ‘ but I had no idea Captain 
Cuxwold was in the midst of all that carnage.’ 

‘ Yes ; it was pretty hard fighting. These Arabs are 
splendid fellows, and fight like wildcats ; but they are 
likely to see plenty more of it before all is over. We’ve 
sent Gordon to Khartoum, and he is besieged there. We 
are in honour bound to go to his relief, and, what’s 
more, the outcry in the country is getting so strong that 
Government cannot put off sending an expedition much 
longer. It doesn’t much matter where they start from, 
but there’ll be bitter fighting in the desert between that 
and Khartoum. But see, they are going down for another 
race. Do you take much interest in this sort of thing ? ’ 
‘Yes, I do,’ she replied, as she stood up in the carriage, 
with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, though how she 
could look so excited, considering how little she knew 
about it, was singular. It is possible she was thinking 
more about the perils of the Soudan than the mimic 
warfare of the racecourse. ‘How I do wish we had a 
horse of our own running in this.’ 


What Newmarket did for Them, 103 

Alec Flood had never been suspected of taking any very 
great interest in turf matters, but this afternoon he spent 
watching the racing closely from the box of the Bramtons^ 
carriage. 


CHAPTER XVL 

WHAT NEWMARKET DID FOR THEM. 

Young Tom Robbins had after his wont still further de- 
creased his store during the July meeting. Weak in 
judgment, he was always pursuing that ignis fatuus of 
backers — the backing of something at long odds so as to 
win a handsome stake at once, although experience 
might have taught him that, like the zero at roulette, 
these outsiders won very seldom, and that when they did, 
they were as a rule as unbacked as their prototype at the 
roulette board. He was sauntering at the post office one 
morning, having despatched his usual telegram concerning 
the morning gallops to the paper he was employed on, 
when he rAn across Mr Napper. 

‘Ah ! Tom, my boy,’ said that gentleman, ‘how goes 
it? Anything new on the Heath this morning?’ 

‘ No,’ replied the other ; ‘ nothing has broke down that 
I’ve heard of. There was a trial of some kind on the 
Bury side, but I couldn’t make anything out of it. What 
are you up to ? ’ 

‘ Well, I’m off to town,’ replied Mr Napper. ‘ There’s 
a matter of business that a London firm is working for us, 
and they’ve sent down for fuller information, and as I am 
well up in the case, my employers thought the best thing 
they could do was to send me up to talk it over with them, 
and I’ve just wired to say I’m on my way. I say, did you 
ever have a look at your father’s will ? ’ 

‘No,’ replied Tom ; ‘ it hardly seemed good enough to 
go to town about’ 

‘Well, I don’t know that it is,’ replied Mr Napper, ‘but, 
as I said to you before, I consider it is worth paying a shil- 
ling to see. Stop, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I shall have a 
little time to spare. I’ll go and see it for you if you like.’ 

‘ I wish you would, like a good fellow,’ replied Tom 
Robbins. 


104 Long Odds. 

‘ All right, old chappie. Fll look up the old ^un’s last 
testament, never fear ; and now Tm off. By-by.’ 

Mr Napper was a very astute, crafty young gentleman 
— one of those young gentlemen who, as the saying goes, 
are ‘ quite too clever to live.’ Quite too sharp to last is 
a better rendering of it, for such men, by their extreme 
scepticism with regard to their neighbours, are apt to over- 
reach themselves. He was a pushing, active, energetic 
little fellow, anxious to come by money, honestly if he 
could, but, above all, to come by money. To his clerk- 
ship in the solicitor’s office at Newmarket he added 
the post of special agent there for his uncle, Mr James 
Noel. To have said that he was James Noel’s tout would 
have made him very indignant, but for all that he was 
only a high development of this order as regards his 
uncle. He had not the time, nor would it have suited with 
his other position that he should have been amongst the 
ordinary gang of horse-watchers, but for all that there 
was no important trial took place at Newmarket that Mr 
Napper was not acquainted with the results pretty well 
as soon as the touts — usually more accurately informed 
than many of them, such as Tom Robbins, to wit. Mr 
Noel was no niggard of his gold when useful information 
was brought to him, and this enabled Sim Napper to be 
liberal, and as Sim’s speculations were usually of a very 
modest character, the horse-watchers thought there could 
be no harm in what they told him ; and, what was still 
more to the point, some of the stable boys were equally 
communicative, with a due regard to the five shillings 
which rewarded any little bit of equine scandal deemed 
worthy of note. 

In the course of the day Sim Napper found time to call 
at Somerset House, and examine the will of the late 
Richard Bramton, and he was not a little astonished upon 
mastering its contents. 

‘ Well,’ he muttered to himself, ‘ you were quite right, 
Tom ; it wasn’t worth your while coming up to London to 
look at it. It don’t benefit you, nor can I see it will be 
ever likely to, even if you could lay hands on your mother’s 
marriage certificate ; but we are all out of it, too. John 
Bramton, apparently, hasn’t come into a shilling. It all 


What Newmarket did for Them. 105 

goes to the young woman. She is worth picking up. 
Somebody told me the Miss Bramtons were very pretty 
girls. Now that codicil, I wonder whether there^s any- 
thing to be done with that ? Lef s look at it again. 

‘ “ By my said will I have left all my racehorses to my 
niece Lucy Bramton ; and whereas some of these may 
be engaged in important stakes, and others untried at my 
death, and so their value not known, I therefore think 
they ought to be kept in training for a year or two ; and 
I now authorise executors of this my will, during the min- 
ority of my said niece Lucy, to carry on the training of 
such horses, paying the cost of the same out of the 
annual income of my estate. 

‘ “ Signed, sealed, and delivered, etc.’’ 

‘Now, this is a bit of information that might be useful 
to my Uncle Jim. I can’t say I see exactly how, but that’s 
his business. There is one thing pretty clear, that all this 
talk about Mr Bramton selling Damocles is moonshine. 
I don’t believe he can, according to this. At all events, 
I should say he can’t sell him this year. It would raise 
a beautiful point if it was ever in dispute.’ 

From Somerset House Mr Napper went across to the 
Victoria Club, and called upon his uncle, James Noel. 
He found the bookmaker in, and over the lunch which 
the latter proffered, told him of his recent discovery. 

‘No; you’re right, Sim,’ said Mr Noel. ‘I don’t see much 
to be made out of it ; but it’s curious the first favourite 
for the Derby being the property of a lady. As you say, 
it does away with all these reports about Damocles being 
for sale. You may be pretty certain that he won’t leave 
his present stable.’ 

Leaving Mr Noel to cogitate on the information, Mr 
Napper had brought him, we must now turn round and 
see what came of the July week to some of the other people 
in this veracious narrative. The Bramtons were one and 
all delighted with their first experience of racing. It had 
been, indeed, a very pleasant day’s outing as far as they 
were concerned. They had carried^ff the big prize of the 
day. and Mr Bramton, thanks to the Earl c f Ranksborow, 


io6 Long Odds. 

had attracted some little attention. The Earl had intro- 
duced him to several young men, prefacing his introduc- 
tion with the aside, ‘ Has got the two prettiest daughters 
and the best glass of champagne on the Heath. If he 
asks you to lunch, go.’ 

Mr Bramton was the soul of hospitality, and the conse- 
quence was his daughters had quite a little court of young 
men, who thought there was no pleasanter way of repay- 
ing hospitality than by flirting with the young ladies ; and 
though Lucy seemed somewhat absorbed in Alec Flood, 
yet Matilda showed herself quite equal to the occasion, and 
coquetted gaily with her sister’s as well as her own admirers. 
Mr Bramton, indeed, was exceedingly pleased with his 
debut on the turf. Not only had he thoroughly enjoyed 
himself, but so far it was a very money-making business 
to boot. The whole party, indeed, left Newmarket ex- 
tremely well satisfied with themselves. True Mr Bramton, 
figuring in the position of owning the winner of the J ulys, 
fell into divers mistakes in attempting to show Damocles 
to his new acquaintance — pointing out as Damocles various 
horses that were not the least like him, except, perhaps, 
in the matter of colour. Mr Bramton found it very 
difficult to distinguish one racehorse from another ; but 
with all his elation, he was too shrewd a man to pledge 
himself to Lord Ranksborow, and parried that nobleman’s 
craftily-worded request very cleverly. The Earl had said 
to him, in airy fashion, after the Julys, — 

‘Now, Bramton, make our minds easy; all Barkshire, 
like myself, is on your horse for next year’s Derby. Pro- 
mise us one thing, that you won’t sell him.’ 

‘ Oh ! I couldn’t do that. It ain’t business, you know. 
You’re bound to realise, you know, when things touch the 
top of the market. It’s a great sport no doubt, my lord, 
but I don’t know that it is altogether prudent to keep so 
much capital locked up in what is very perishable property.’ 

It was no use. Try as he might, the Earl could get no 
positive assurance from John Bramton that he would not 
part with the horse. On the contrary, he was apparently 
inclined to do so should he be offered an outside price for 
him, and that Bramton had arrived at a much clearer idea 
of the value of Damocles than when Mr Skinner first 


What Newmarket did for Them, 107 

endeavoured to buy him, was manifest. Now the Earl 
knew perfectly well that there were some three or four 
wealthy young men who had just appeared on the turf, and 
who would be quite willing to spend a lot of money in 
the hope of winning their first Derby. He discerned 
that it was hopeless to arouse any ambition of that sort in 
the owner of Damocles ; and the consequence was that 
he lived in daily dread of hearing that noble animal had 
changed hands. He had great confidence in Stubber as 
far as he went, he thoroughly believed in his ability and 
honesty ; the only doubt he had was he able to cope with 
such an unscrupulous practitioner as James Noel. Lord 
Ranksborow had been far too long on the turf to think that 
those connected with it were of necessity scoundrels, but 
of course these exist, as they do in all other vocations. 
Nothing definite had ever been alleged against James 
Noel, but it certainly was curious that horses he laid 
heavily against were very liable to mishaps, and from the 
outset he had been a most persistent opposer of Dam- 
ocles for the Epsom race. 

Lucy had so far, on one occasion only, had to remind 
her father of the existence of the codicil, and had never 
shown him the opinion Mr Pecker had obtained upon it. 
John Bramton from the first had pooh-poohed the para- 
graph. He considered it merely expressed a wish ; in fact it 
was more a guide for himself as trustee than anything else. 
His brother, knowing that he had no knowledge of the 
value of racing stock, was simply anxious that his horses 
should not be sold for about half what they were worth ; 
bu so long as his daughter was a minor, he conceived 
that he had the power to do as he thought best about 
the disposal of the stud. Lawyers always did make such 
a fuss about things. As Pecker had said, the question 
was hardly likely to arise, as Miss Lucy would doubtless 
be guided by her father in such a matter. True she had 
opposed the sale of Damocles to Lord Ranksborow, but 
then the result had justified the opposition, and went to 
show that Lucy at that time, thanks to her late uncle’s 
instructions, was a better judge of the value of thorough- 
bred stock than he was, but that she would ever seriously 
oppose what he thought right to do never entered his head 


io8 


Long Odds* 

John Bramton had gone through two or three different 
phases of thought on the subject of his brothers stud. 
His first impulse had been to sell them all, then came 
the stage of great misgivings, when he first discovered 
that the horses were so very much more valuable than he 
had deemed them ; then came the distinction of being 
the supposed owner of a racing crack, which suited a 
fussy, pompous man like himself exactly ; then, again, 
came the old trading instinct, which told him it was 
absurd to keep ten thousand pounds locked up in the 
form of a horse, and he was told that Damocles was 
worth that at the present moment. It was useless point- 
ing out to him that the horse would probably win as 
much as that before he was a year older. That, in Bram- 
ton’s eyes, was sheer gambling, it might or might not be 
so ; he might fall a victim to any of the ills that horse- 
flesh is heir to ; he might be beaten, and thus decrease in 
value. Nobody had offered him ten thousand pounds 
for Damocles as yet, and although John Bramton was 
not quite prepared to accept such an offer right off, he 
was certainly quite prepared to think it over ; and I fancy 
most prudent men would say that he was right. Lucy, 
on the other hand, had in the first instance been in- 
fluenced simply by a desire to comply with her uncle’s 
last wish. She would have said, ‘ Do what you like with 
the rest, but let me keep Damocles ; ’ but now that she 
had tasted all the eda/ of being a successful owner of 
racehorses, she was by no means disposed to abandon 
the position. She was so delighted with the glories of 
the July week that, had it not been too late, she w^ould 
have expostulated with her father about the sale of the 
other horses. As it \> as, she was -determined strenuously 
to oppose any idea of parting with those that remained. 
It was true that the world regarded Damocles as the 
property of her father, but that did not signify. She 
as her father’s daughter got quite her share of the honour 
and glory, and she was firmly convinced that racing in 
fine weather was the perfection of sports ; and, moreover, 
the girl did take, what none of the rest of the family did, 
a genuine interest in the sport 


Aiu Klea and Abu Kru. 


109 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ABU KLEA AND ABU KRU. 

The low growlings of the country have at length deep- 
ened to a roar, and the Government no longer dare vacil- 
late about making one supreme effort to save the soldier 
whom they had hitherto teft to his fate in Khartoum. 
Precious time had been lost, but what has been aptly 
termed the ‘ Campaign of the Cataracts,’ had at length 
begun. By day and night the procession of boats swept 
by, bearing the miscellaneous force who were straining 
every nerve to reach the leaguered city wherein, 

' Like a roebuck at bay, 

Flouts our Great Soldier the Moslem array.* 

Closely beset though Gordon is, despatches are yet 
occasionally received from him, which mention with quiet 
decision how long his food would hold out, and at the 
same time state with equal directness that to escape is 
now impossible, and that, his provisions once exhausted, 
there is nothing left him but to die sword in hand. 

* And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to heaven, from his deathbed of fame.* 

Night and day the boats struggle on up the famous 
river, rowing, sailing, tugging, amidst the laughter, cries, 
and, I am afraid, occasionally curses, of the soldiers, voy- 
ageurs, and natives, tumbling up cataracts, goodness knows 
how, sometimes turning over, and still somehow, a greaj 
mass of men and material, makes its way up the old mys- 
terious stream to the rendezvous of Korti. Not a man 
of them all but knows that they have much hardship, 
hard fare, and hard fighting before they see the walls of 
Khartoum ; but what reck they of that ? The sole thought 
in all men’s minds is, ‘ Shall we be in time ? ’ Hard work 
it has been to reach Korti, and everybody knows now 
that Lord Wolseley has decided upon the daring expedient 
of a dash across the desert, from that point. Still there 
is much to be done before Sir Herbert Stewart’s force is 
sufficiently victualled and organised to proceed on its 
way. That the limit of time to which Gordon had alleged 


no 


Lcng Odds, 

his ability to hold out, was rapidly drawing to a close, 
the chiefs of the expedition are painfully aware. That 
it will be a very close thing, march rapidly as they 
may, was perfectly clear, and that, should ouccess crown 
the toils of the column, it would only be by a very narrow 
margin, was certain. That the Arabs should have allowed 
the Wells of Jakdul to be seized upon without resistance, 
showed a supineness on their part so contrary to the 
energy and activity they had displayed in the neighbour- 
hood of Suakim, as to astonish our leaders not a little. 
Subsequent events showed that they were probably taken 
by surprise, and were far from expecting a relieving force 
to advance from that direction ; but as soon as they did 
understand it, that we were not to have a peaceful pro- 
menade to Metammeh, they gave speedy and vigorous 
proof. However, all is ready at last ; another hour, and 
Sir Herbert Stewart and his soldiers will plunge into 
the desert. 

Standing at the door of one of the tents, and looking, 
with a mingled expression of disgust and amusement on 
his face, at the stubborn vagaries of a contumacious camel, 
stands Jack Cuxwold. If he had made rather light of the 
Egyptian campaign when we last saw him, at Cairo, he 
had seen his predictions fulfilled, and enough stern and 
bitter fighting since then to satisfy most men. He, like 
his comrades, had carried his life in his hand many 
a time, in that ceaseless battling with the irrepressible 
Osman Digma, in the scrub round Suakim. His tall 
figure looked somewhat leaner than when we last saw it, 
and his face is burnt by the desert sun to a red brick 
colour. A puggaree is wound round his pith helmet ; and 
he wears a sort of grey Norfolk jacket, with collar a la 
guillotine ; high boots ; and a waist-belt, from which hang 
his revolver and sabre, complete his attire. But the man 
looks all wire and whipcord, and, if somewhat thinner, 
apparently none the worse for his campaigning, so far. 

‘Well, we never know what we may come to,’ he 
mutters. ‘When I joined the 24th Lancers, I certainly 
never dreamt of riding a brute like that ; and a more 
obstinate, pig-headed devil, or one more uncomfort- 
able to ride, I don’t suppose exists on the face of the 


Ill 


Abu Klea and Abu Kru. 

globe. A mule ! why, a mule is a park hack* compared 
to him. I should just like to give Dart a mount on one. 
He can ride a bit, and thinks he can ride a good bit more ; 
but I think he’d own a camel was hard to hold, when it 
came to a difference of opinion with his rider. Well ! we 
shouldn’t like to have been left out of it, though it is 
rather rough to send a smart Lincer regiment into the 
desert, mounted on beasts like that. Their one redeem- 
ing quality being a capacity of going without water four 
or five days.’ 

Ugly and obstinate the ship of the desert may be, but 
of a verity the campaign of the Soudan made a very heca- 
tomb of his race. 

Covered by a small body of horsemen, the long column 
winds its weary way across the desert, until it arrived at 
the Wells of Jakdul. No sign of the Arabs as yet, but, 
for all that, the leaders in the expedition relax no whit 
in their vigilance. Soon after leaving the Wells, the horse- 
men scouting in front report the presence of small parties 
of Arabs, apparently watcliing their advance. Warily the 
column presses forward, and soon the dragoons gallop 
back from the front, and report large masses of the enemy 
moving in the scrub. Still pushing forward — ever onward, 
for every man in that force knows that the hours are pre- 
cious, the soldiers toil on under the blazing sun, and 
eke out their limited supply of water as best they may. 
Then comes the news that the Arabs are massing in their 
front ; the column halts, forms up, and, after a little, once 
more advances in an echelon of squares. They are not 
left much longer in doubt about the enemy’s proceedings. 
Already the horsemen covering the advance have ridden 
in; a few minutes more, and the scrub becomes alive 
with the Arab host, who come on like a tidal wave, surg- 
ing, shrieking, and brandishing their spears. Down go 
the deadly breechloaders, and as, in response to the bugle 
call, the withering roll of musketry commences, the daring 
fanatics fall in scores, and their spirits are wafted to that 
Paradise where they imagine the dark-eyed houris are 
awaiting them. As the wave recoils from the rock-bound 
coast, so the Arabs recoil from the stubborn, impenetrable 
squares of the British infantry. Bayonets are red, and 


II2 


Long Odds, 

swords drip blood, but still the dauntless Moslems, like the 
ocean surf repelled — like that ocean surf return again and 
again to the charge. Many of England’s best and bravest 
are down, with their life-blood drenching the desert sands, 
and amongst them poor Fred Burnaby, as gallant a soldier 
as ever died a warrior’s death. But the onslaught gets 
slacker and slacker, and at last the Arabs sullenly retire 
from their hopeless efforts to break those obstinate squares, 
leaving the ground around them strewn with the dead and 
dying. 

The battle is over, and the conquerors are now left to 
count the cost of their hard-earned victory. The leaders 
look with grim dismay at the gaps in the ranks of their 
little band. They have still far to go, and they are likely 
to have much more such fighting before they once more 
strike the waters of the Nile ; but their triumph has given 
them the Wells of Abu Klea. 

They are but a handful to accomplish this task, and yet 
it would have been scarce possible to have carried water 
for a larger number. Jack Cuxwold, black with powder 
but all unhurt, looks grimly down at a lithe, powerful 
young Arab, whose shade his sabre has sent to the realms 
of bliss. 

‘ A real good-plucked one,’ he muttered, as he gazed 
upon the fine wild dark features of his fallen foe, who, 
reckless of life, had fought his way into the square. 

‘ Well, they all are ; they fight like wild cats.’ And then, 
sad to say, the Honourable Jack’s thoughts assume a 
more material form, and, turning to one of his brother 
officers, he remarked, — 

‘ It was pretty hot while it lasted, Checquers. I don’t 
know how you feel, but I’d give a tenner for a pot 
of beer 1 ’ 

‘ Yes, it was pretty lively,’ observed the young gentle- 
man addressed. ‘ Yes, Jack, it will be a subject of life- 
long regret to think of that magnificent thirst that we 
enjoyed in the Soudan, and which had to remain ungrati- 
fied, I’ve been only able to allow myself two mouthfuls 
of water, to take the dust out of my mouth after that 
“ little kickup.” ’ 

* Yes,’ replied Jack, ‘and, after all, we’ve only won the 


Abu Klea and Abu Kru, 113 

first round, and not the fight. We have given those 
fellows a terrible dusting, but they take their punishment 
like men, and will have another shy at us before we 
reach Metammeh.’ 

On the column moves again, slowly making its toil- 
some way, now over the sandy ridges, now through the 
low scrub, men perspiring, camels grunting, and anxious 
inquiries passing from mouth to mouth as to how long it 
will be before they reach the next wells. Misers there 
are who dole out the drops from their water-bottles 
a teaspoonful at a time, spendthrifts who have long ago 
emptied theirs, and who are fain to chew bullets, stones, 
or bits of the dry scrub, to produce saliva and allay the 
fierce thirst that possesses them. The scouts ever and 
anon report that the Arabs in small parties are watching 
their movements closely. Once more water is reached, 
there is a halt of some hours, and then the march is once 
more resumed. A long tedious night tramp, with dire 
misgivings that the guides have either lost their way or 
are purposely misleading them. Once more the order is 
given to halt, the zareba is formed, and preparation is 
made for the night. The scouts report that the Arabs 
are gathering thick in their front. They surely cannot be 
far from the river now. Ah ! it is plain. The enemy 
has intercepted them, and intends to make them fight 
once more before they get to the water. It is the battle 
of the other day over again. Once more, led on by their 
sheikhs, who are chanting texts from the Koran, with loud 
cries, the Arabs come dauntlessly on. Once more rings 
out the ceaseless fire of the breechloader, and the deep 
growlings of the Gatling. The Moslems charge home 
with all the reckless contempt of death characteristic of 
their creed, and strew the ground like autumn leaves, 
while many of them are killed at the very edge of the 
square and some few of them even inside. 

But the leaden hail tells at last, the fierce rushes get 
weaker and weaker, and finally the enemy retires sullenly, 
bearing with him as many as he can of his wounded. Vic- 
tors once more, but, alack ! at a terrible price. Stewart, 
their gallant leader, is severely wounded, destined, sad to 
say, never to recover from his injuries. And many another 
H 


1 14 Long Odds. 

good man and true recks little now as to whether Kha.'*- 
toum is reached in time or no ; many of them, perchance, 
aware by this that their efforts have been all in vain. A 
consultation takes place between the chiefs of the expedi- 
tion, and it is determined that the wounded, under a strong 
guard, shall be left in the zareba, and the remainder of the 
force shall fight its way to the river. On they push, the 
Arabs firing sullenly at them from the scrub. But the fight 
is out of the foe. He no longer charges in his old dash- 
ing fashion up to the very face of the square, and as the 
breechloaders search the scrub, he flies from his cover to 
a safer distance. 

At last the river lies glittering before them, and, camp- 
ing on its banks, they prepare to indulge in the luxury of 
water unlimited. Gordon^s steamers are there, and the 
men in charge of them protest that Khartoum still holds 
out. All will be known now in a very few hours. Sir 
Robert Wilson, Lord Charles Beresford, and a handful of 
soldiers and sailors are to embark in those steamers at 
daybreak the next morning. In the meantime, the sick, 
wounded in hospitals, and baggage, have all been brought 
from the zareba down to the encampment on the river’s 
bank, and now it became necessary to send back a mes- 
senger with despatches to the Commander-in-chief, inform- 
ing him of their having gained the river, — of Gordon’s re- 
ported safety, to say nothing of that dread list of killed and 
wounded that always accompanies the news of victories ; 
and the man selected for this purpose was Jack Cuxwold. 
He was provided with a picked dromedary, and he was to 
take an ample supply of food and water. It was not anti- 
cipated that he would meet any Arabs on his way back to 
Korti, but of course he might come across a wandering 
party. Still, so far as they knew, he ran no more risk than 
such a messenger might expect to encounter. Jack cursed 
his luck. At first it seemed to him nothing but a long, 
dreary, and solitary ride. He was a man of gregarious 
habits, and did not at all appreciate campaigning by him- 
self. Still, in the old campaigning phrase, ‘ It was all in 
the day’s work ; ’ he had got the order, and the thing had 
got to be done. 

* Don’t pity you a bit. Jack,’ remarked young Checquers. 


Lost in the Desert 


I15 

‘ It’ll give you a grand time for mental reflection, and a 
splendid opportunity to think over the errors of your 
career ; besides, if you can’t tell his lordship what gallant 
service you’ve rendered in the recent battles, who can, I 
should like to know ? I only wish I had such a chance 
to hold forth on my own merits.’ 

‘Oh, don’t be a fool, Checquers,’ was the curt rejoinder. 

‘No, this child ain’t much of one,’ was the reply; ‘but, 
joking apart, Jack, don’t you know that the bearers of de- 
spatches generally get something out of it ? The chances 
are you will too, old man.’ 

Cuxwold brightened up at this, and at once commenced 
his few preparations for departure. 


CHAPTER XVI 11. 

LOST IN THE DESERT. 

A COUPLE of hours later, and Jack Cuxwold, having re- 
ceived his despatches, mounts his dromedary, and once 
more strikes across the Nubian desert. He is accom- 
panied by Chec(iuers, who, mounted on a camel, proposes 
to see him fairly on his way. 

‘ Well, they’ve done the handsome thing for you,’ ob- 
served that young gentleman, ‘ and picked you out one of 
the thoroughbred ones. Those dromedaries can go a rare 
pace when they’re put to it ; not like this lumbering old 
brute of mine. The only thing I fancy is that they jolt 
you pretty well all to pieces, when you put ’em into a trot’ 

‘ Fancy they do,’ replied Jack ; '‘ and, as my orders are to 
lose no time on the way, I shall doubtless be pretty well 
bumped to pieces before I reach Korti.’ 

‘ VVell, old fellow, it’ll be a pretty dull ride ; but you’ll 
have a chat at the Wells of Jakdul with the people we’ve 
left there. As for us, I suppose you’ll find us in Khartoum 
when you get back.’ 

‘I don’t think so,’ said Jack. ‘ Whether we’ve been in 
time to save Gordon or not we don’t yet know ; but w^e 
can’t do more than bring him off. We can’t maintain our- 
selves at Khartoum, on account of our want of supplies.’ 

‘Right you are,’ said Checquers. ‘ I never thought of 


1 16 Long Odds, 

that I suppose we shall have to tramp our way back 
across this blessed old sea of sand, with our Aral) friends 
making it as lively for us as ever.’ 

‘ Quite likely. Now I think you had better turn back. 
I’m going to push on, and, I take it, you won’t be able to 
keep up with this dromedary. I’m told he can really go a 
good pace, and keep it up.’ 

‘ Yes,’ replied Checquers. ‘ I know that fellow by sight. 
He is the best thing in the camel line we’ve got amongst 
us. They tell me, over a distance, that breed will wear 
down any horse.’ 

‘ True,’ said Jack ; ‘and one great pull is that, going fast, 
these fellows make such good time between the wells, 
that you don’t require to carry much water.’ 

‘ Well, good-bye, and God bless you ! ’ exclaimed the 
other; ‘ hope you’ll have a pleasant ride,’ and, with a hearty 
hand-grip, the two men separated. 

Checquers looked after his friend for a few minutes, 
but Cuxwold put his dromedary to its speed, and the 
animal at once broke into the long shambling run peculiar 
to his race, which, if not graceful to look at, nevertheless 
carries them over the ground at a considerable rate, and 
Jack soon became a mere shadow in the distance. 

‘ Hope he’ll pull through all right,’ muttered Checquers 
to himself. ‘ I shall feel awful bad if my captain leaves 
his bones in the desert. He is much too good a fellow 
for that ; and, of course, there’s always the chance of his 
falling in with a small band of Arabs — beggars who would 
cut his throat for fun, let alone to become the possessors 
of that dromedary ;’ and thus ruminating, Mr Checquers, 
keeping his ‘eyes pretty well skinned,’ to use his own 
expression, made the best of his way back to camp. 

It was night; the heavens were gemmed in all their 
jewellery ; the moon, though not yet fairly risen, cast its 
soft light over the shadowless desert, as Jack Cuxwold 
sped onward on his way. If ever a man would think, it 
would be upon such a solitary ride as this. The time, 
the mighty silence, the great sandy waste, and, above all, 
the stirring scenes in which his life had been lately passed, 
all combined to make Cuxwold look back upon his past 
life not a little seriously. What a time it seemed since he 


Lost in the Desert 1 17 

had left England ! and yet it was not such a very long 
time ago either. Between two and three years, that was 
all. He thought of them all at Knightshayes, and won- 
dered what they were all doing. Dartree was not much 
of a correspondent : the last letter he had from him he 
was full of his steeplechases. He wondered how he was 
getting on with them. It was the winter season now — 
just the time for them, and the hunting. How he should 
like a good gallop with the West Barkshire. And then 
he thought of the luxury of bestriding a thoroughbred 
horse, in lieu of this rough-going ‘ ship of the desert ’ that 
he was at present riding. He wondered what sort of a 
year his father and brother had had racing. Really, the 
most news he had had about his own family, was contained 
in a letter from Flood. In it he had reminded him of the 
scene in the gambling-house at Cairo, — of Dick Bram- 
ton’s last message to his niece, ‘ to take care of Damocles.^ 
‘ It is a curious thing,’ wrote Flood, ‘ that I happened to 
be at Newmarket, and saw that distinguished animal win 
the July’s. I further made the acquaintance of all the 
Bramton family, including, of course, our protegee of Cairo, 
w^ho asked a good deal about you. It seems your noble 
father and Dartree have backed Damocles, at long odds, 
for next year’s Derby. The Earl, indeed, stands to win 
an immense stake on him. The poor fellow we saw 
killed at Cairo was rather a racing pal of Lord Ranks 
borow’s, and he’s in agonies now as to what John Bramton 
means to do with that colt. John Bramton, you mu^ 
know, has bought Temple Rising, and, so to speak, estab- 
lished himself at the doors of Knightshayes. He seems 
a good-tempered, hospitable old vulgarian, and though he 
may know nothing about racing, your father told me he 
was a very sharp man of business, and that he thought 
nobody would get the best of him, either on the turf or 
anywhere else.’ 

The letter then went on with sundry inquiries as to 
whether there was any chance of their speedily finishing 
up the Soudan campaign, which, as we are already in 
possession of Mr Flood’s views respecting that embroglio, 
it is not necessary to particularise. 

Jack Cuxwold thought a good deal over this letter. 


Ii8 Long Odds, 

as he rode on. So that pretty girl with the golden-red 
hair and blue eyes hadn’t quite forgotten him. He 
thought of that one letter he had received from her; 
and to think she was established at Temple Rising. Of 
course, he knew the place well ; he had been often there, 
in the days when it belonged to his father’s friend, poor 
old Molyneux. ‘ By Jove ! ’ he thought, ‘ it ought to be a 
warning to the governor. He and Dart have a weakness 
for plunging, and between ’em, if they don’t mind, they’ll 
bring Knightshayes to the hammer. Of course, it can’t 
personally be of much importance to me ; but I’m fond 
of the old place. I should be awfully cut up to see it 
go out of the family. It’s an awful business to think of 
Temple Rising going away from the Molyneuxs. Alec 
don’t give a very flattering account of their successors ; 
but Lucy, the one that was at Cairo, was as pretty, lady- 
like a girl as ever I met.’ 

Jack, who had been travelling for some hours, now 
thought it advisable to halt for a little, and refresh both 
himself and his beast ; and here he made two discoveries, 
which scattered his reflections to the winds. The first of 
these was, that the large goat-skin which had contained 
his water, leaked, and that it was now well-nigh exhausted. 
True, he had his water-bottle, but that was a marvellously 
short supply upon which to rely until he reached the 
Abu Klea Wells. The second discovery — hardly to be 
called a discovery indeed, as yet — was the dread suspicion 
that he had somehow missed his way. Once get off the 
route, and il is as easy to lose your way in the desert as 
to lose your reckoning on the ocean. You are at once 
placed in the position of men who have abandoned their 
ship, and taken to their boats. You know not how long 
you may wander about before help comes to you, but 
you do know that your food and water will only last so 
long, and that if help come not to you within that time, 
or thereabouts, you will be past praying for. The bones 
of men and beasts have blanched before now on the 
desert sands, simply because they were out in their 
reckoning. To these lost ones it had come that they 
must reach water or perish, and they had perished. 

Jack had heard [)lenty of such stories. Few pec pie 


Lost in the Desert. 1 19 

that have ever crossed the desert but have heard such 
narratives. The route is, of course, well-known ; but still, 
get but a mile off the track, and it is very easy to make 
a serious mistake in your efforts to return to it. Jack 
might well look grave at the situation. First and foremost, 
if he did not fail, he would be, at all events, slow in the 
dojng of his errand, and that, in a bearer of despatches, is 
unpardonable ; secondly, death by thirst was a mode of 
leaving this world that nobody would willingly select. 
Jack Cuxwold sat quietly down to think the thing out. 
Now it so happened that he had a small compass attached 
to his watch chain, and though perhaps not very reliable, 
it would, he thought, give him a general knowledge of his 
bearings ; but then, the worst of it was, he had a very 
hazy idea of what his course ought to be, and he was 
quite conscious that much inaccuracy on this point might 
cost him his life. However, he was soon mounted on his 
dromedary, and commenced his endeavours to recover 
the track. 

The moon was by this time fading from the hills ; the 
stars twinkled like expiring rushlights, and then went out. 
It was the dark hour before the dawn ; and, as Jack wan- 
dered aimlessly along, he felt that he had been foolish, 
— that it would have been better, both for him and his 
animal, to have rested until the rising sun had enabled him 
to take a calm survey of — 

‘ Those sands, by the seas never shaken, 

Nor wet from the washing of tides.* 

There was not much to be done till the day dawned ; and 
when, like a ball of fire it showed above the distant hori- 
zon, Jack Cuxwold was fain to confess that he was lost 
in the desert. According to his calculation, he should by 
this have been somewhere in the vicinity of their first 
fight with the Arabs, and, if that were the case, there would 
still remain all the dkbris of the fray ; and though the vul- 
tures, after the manner of the wild dogs, had doubtless 

‘Stripped the flesh 

As you peel the fig, when the uuit is fresh,* 

yet the bleaching skeletons of both men and animals 
would mark the scene of that fierce encounter ; but no, 


120 


Long Odds, 

there was not a sign, — nothing but that waste of low scrub 
and sand. The sun rose higher in the heavens, and again 
and again did his eyes rove over the pitiless desert, in 
the hope of recognising some object that might recall to 
him his whereabouts. Not a rock, not a boulder, nothing 
could he recognise ; there was nothing but that mono- 
tonous waste of arid sand or stunted scrub. Swell ajjfer 
swell did he surmount of that dreary plain, but all to no 
end. More than one sandhill did he ascend, only to see 
the same prospect on all sides of him. The heat had 
become intolerable, and his thirst was maddening. He 
dared not take a thorough good draught, but was forced 
to moisten his lips with a few drops from his water bottle. 
In vain he pursued the course, which, by his compass, he 
thought would lead him to Korti ; but he was off the track,, 
and could see nothing which he recognised as having 
passed on his way up. A horse will find his way in 
the darkness, or when his rider is perfectly unable to do 
so. If instinct served horses in such straits, why should it 
not serve camels ? He would leave it to the dromedary ; 
but that hapless brute did not apparently rise to the 
occasion, an^, after wandering aimlessly about for a couple 
of hours. Jack came to the conclusion that whatever might 
be the case with his race generally, the beast he bestrode 
was not gifted with intelligence sufficient to succour them 
in their need. 

Suddenly he espied a massive boulder cropping out of 
the sand. It was some distance off, but he would make 
for that He did not expect much from it : it was very 
little likely that there was a spring in its neighbourhood ; 
but there was one thing it surely would give, and that was 
shade. On one side or the other of it there must be some 
protection from the burning desert sun. His temples 
throbbed, his lips were parched, but still onwards he 
toiled. One consolation only was that the patient animal 
he rode showed no signs of flagging ; but how was it all to 
end ? Like the Israelites of old, he was wandering aim- 
lessly in the desert. At length he reached the rock, and, 
dismounting, took refuge with his dromedary beneath its 
shadow. He had food, but he had little appetite for it 
Water was his great anxiety ; and to have lost nearly all 


Lost in the Desert, 12 1 

Iiis supply in such an untoward manner so soon after 
starting, was a terrible mischance. Jack Cuxwold had 
looked death undauntedly in the face several times dur- 
ing the past two years, but then' it had been in hot blood. 
The destroyer had never confronted him in such grisly 
fashion as now. 

Worn out with his ride, Jack hobbled his dromedary, 
indulged himself with a penurious draught from that 
widow^s cruse, his water-bottle, and, stretching himself out, 
was soon wrapped in a profound slumber. The sun was 
still high in the heavens when he awoke, consumed with 
feverish thirst. It did not matter, it had to be endured ; 
what little water he had left must be hoarded to the last 
extremity. After due study of his compass, he once more 
mounted his beast, and started, not on his way, but to 
find it. Three or four hours’ aimless wandering, and then 
he espied a small group of rocks which he thought he 
recognised. The sun was sinking to his bed in the west 
ere he reached them, only to discover that the hope he had 
fostered had probably been father to the thought. Like 
the mirage, they were a deception — no sign of the track 
was to be seen from under them ; and all he could say 
was that on his way up he had seen something very like 
them. He could stand it no longer ; his thirst was 
maddening ; it was no use preserving that last modicum 
of water, and, dismounting, he drained his water-bottle to 
the dregs, and laid himself down under this fresh group 
of boulders. 

When he awoke about daybreak, the same intolerable 
thirst possessed him ; his lips were dry ; his tongue felt as 
if swollen to double its size, and to have become per- 
fectly hard. Jack Cuxwold was no flincher, but a strange 
terror crept over him now. That he was far from the end 
of his physical resources he knew. He was tired, weary, 
and, to a considerable extent, exhausted by his exertions, 
but still more by the terrible scarcity of water that he 
had had to endure under a tropical sun ; still, he was a 
long way off being incapable of exertion. If a good bit 
beatj there was a good deal of strength left in him still. 
But the thing that frightened him was that he felt his 
hnahi was going. He was conscious that he was getting 


122 


Long Odds, 

light-headed, and this, too, at a time when, if ever a mnn 
required the full possession of all his faculties, it was he. 
That strange jumble of ideas that is wont to surge through 
a man^s brain just before it becomes lost to him, already 
possessed him. The days of his boyhood were mingled 
with the strife al; Abu Klea, the running of Damocles, the 
death of Dick Bramton, and the fair face of his niece. He 
was gradually losing all thought of what he wanted to do, 
or where he was going. Why didn^t Lucy Bramton let 
Damocles go ? What was this hard thing that somebody 
had put in his youth, and that he could not get rid of? 
He attempted to shout, but the words would not come. 
‘ Great God ! did not Checquers see that tall Arab, spear in 
hand, who was bounding up on his right? Help him, 
some of you, or he’ll be killed ! ’ And, vainly striving to 
utter such incoherent cries, Jack Cuxwold fell by the 
side of the rocks, and relapsed into insensibility. 

When he next regained consciousness, his head was on 
a woman’s lap, and it was a woman’s hand that held the 
cup to his blackened lips. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

TURF TACTICS. 

We must now go back in our story some three months, to 
see what was happening in England. Mr Bramton had 
already justified Lord Ranksborow’s opinion of him, by 
showing that though he might know nothing about racing, 
he was about as shrewd a business man as one could 
come across. He knew perfectly well that in Damocles 
he possessed a very valuable property. That the colt 
was the property of his daughter, was a fact that he was 
apt to forget ; not that he in the slightest degree wished 
to deprive Lucy of one shilling that might accrue to her, 
but in all his experience, business alfairs had been the 
prerogative of men. He could not understand a woman 
interfering in such transactions. He was quite willing to 
admit that he was only his daughter’s steward — and one 
more alive to her interests no woman need wish to pos- 
sess ; but then John Bramton wished to be a steward of 
the most autocratic type. He would manage Lucy’s affairs 


Turf Tactics, 123 

to the very best of his ability, but it must be in his own 
way. Women knew nothing of business ; and though Lucy 
was still an hiiant in the eye of the law, that made very 
little difference to John Bramton. Had she been five-and- 
thirty, as long as she was unmarried, he would have com 
ceived that he had a perfect right to administer her affairs. 

He gloried, too, not a little in being the presumed 
owner of Damocles. To be the proprietor of the crack 
two-year-old of the season, he found conferred upon 
him an importance that immensely gratified his vanity. 
People who would have scarcely deigned to look at the 
retired shopkeeper — wholesale though he might have 
been — were keenly alive to scrape acquaintance with the 
owner of the favourite for the coming Derby. It is 
curious, but it is so. Knowing the owner of a crack race- 
horse, however slightly, in the estimation of some people, 
seems to betoken the possibility of money-making; be- 
cause they are acquainted with the owner of Podus- 
okus, they imagine that they are more intimately ac- 
quainted with the merits of that noble animal than the 
general public, who have nothing but his performances to 
guide them. Still, for all that, much though it might 
gratify his pride to rub shoulders with the salt of this 
world, nothing blinded John Bramton when it became a 
question of pounds, shillings, and pence. He had been 
money-grubbing, if you choose to call it so, all his life, 
which means that he had worked hard and used the 
clear calculating brain with which nature had gifted him, 
to the best of his ability. Few people could boast of 
having got the best of John Bramton in business matters. 
Although a just man, he was, undoubtedly, a somewhat 
sharp practitioner in all his dealings; and even the man’s 
natural vanity and pomposity all yielded to that dominant 
passion, of having the best of a deal. For the rest, he 
was no niggard ; he would wrangle over half-a-crown in a 
matter of buying or selling, but you might swim in his 
wine, or revel in the best he had, that half-crown once 
satisfactorily adjusted. As to his daughters, he grudged 
them nothing ; he had brought them up, as he said, like 
ladies, and his highest ambition now was to see them 
make what he called ^ splendacious marriages.’ 


124 Long Odds. 

\ lore than one feeler, with regard to the purchase of 
Damocles, was put out by various members of the turf 
community. A small syndicate of. bookmakers, the mov- 
ing spirit of which was Mr James Noel, were prepared 
to make a very handsome bid for the colt ; but John 
Bramton could not as yet make up his mind. Stubber 
had told him that he possessed a veritable gold-mine in 
Damocles, and, so far, Mr Stubber had most assuredly 
told him the truth. Rich stake after rich stake had been 
credited to Mr Bramton^s account at Wetherbys ; and had 
not Damocles just put the final crown of glory upon his 
two-year-old career, by carrying the extreme penalties and 
winning the Middle Park Plate in a canter. John Bram- 
ton could not make up his mind whether it was not more 
profitable to keep this horse than to sell it. The con- 
tinued successful career of Damocles, and the enthusiasm 
of Mr Stubber about the future of his pet, urged John 
Bramton to stick closely to his prize : on the other hand, 
his old business instincts told him there was danger in 
holding ‘ perishable goods ^ too long ; and a man may 
know nothing about horse-flesh, but still be quite aware 
of the numerous vicissitudes it is subject to. 

The luck of the Bramton jacket indeed had occasioned 
no little talk at Newmarket during October, for no sooner 
had Damocles won the Middle Park Plate, and established 
himself fairly in the position of first favourite for the next 
year’s Derby, than the dark Lucifer made his debut, and 
won a sweepstakes over the Criterion course in such style 
as to make many good judges think him also a colt of 
very superior excellence. 'I'rue, it was pointed out that 
the half-dozen behind him had not shown great racing 
capabilities during the season, but then, on the other hand, 
the victory was a very hollow one, and there was no 
denying that the colt was a fine mover. Still, racing men 
were not likely to jump at the conclusion that Lucifer was 
as good as Damocles, without much better grounds to go 
upon than they had at present. 

One man, however, had some reason to think this might 
turn out to be the case, and that was Mr Skinner. The 
trainer had told him in July that he had a high opinion 
of Lucifer ; that he regarded him as a smart colt, but that 


Turf Tactics. 

he v/as so backward then that he had never been able to 
rightly take his measure. It was possible Stubber could 
tell him a good deal more about the colt now, if he chose. 
Skinner had been an intimate friend of the late Richard 
Bramton’s, and was, consequently, upon friendly terms with 
Mr Stubber. He determined, the Houghton Meeting being 
over, to go and have a friendly talk with that gentleman, 
in the interests of his client. Lord Ranksborow. The 
Earl was a great favourite of Mr Skinner's : the commis- 
sioner never forgot that he was the first man who had 
helped him climb the ladder. The Earl also always 
treated him with great consideration. He was rather proud 
of the privilege of being occasionally asked to Knight- 
shayes. True, he went down there strictly in a business 
point of view, but still he had always good reason to be 
satisfied with his quarters. 

Mr Stubber welcomed the commissioner to breakfast 
with* great cordiality. He was one of those trainers who 
never made any mystery about his charges, but from 
whom, in despite of their apparent candour, you are apt 
to gain surprisingly little information. In Mr Skinner's 
case, this would probably be different. He was one of the 
initiated, and had more than once been entrusted with 
a commission from the stable. 

‘ Well, Stubber,' said the bookmaker, as he sat down, 

‘ your string is in great form this back end. If poor 
Dick Bramton were alive, he'd have given the Ring a 
shaker next year.' 

‘Yes,' replied the trainer; ‘he would have held a nice 
hand of trumps. As it is, I'm bothered out of my life 
what to do. You see, there's no knowing what this Mr 
Bramton will be up to. I ventured to tell him Lord 
Ranksborow had got most of the long shots about 
Damocles.' 

‘You told him that?' asked Skinner sharply. 

‘Yes; simply to assure him that his lordship would 
abide by the offer he made Richard Bramton — that is, to 
let him have what he liked out of them.' 

‘ And what did he say ? ' 

• ‘ His eyes twinkled, and then he laughed, and said, — 
“ Bless you, Stubber, I never bet; and as for the horse, I 


126 Long Odds, 

shall most likely have sold him before next May.’* Now 
what can you do with an owner like that ? * 

* Never fear, man,’ replied Mr Skinner; ‘he won’t sell 
Damocles : his vanity won’t let him. You see, he has 
bought a place close to Knightsha}’es, and he’s mighty 
anxious to stand well with the Earl and his family. You 
were right about Lucifer : he’s a smart colt that’ 

‘ He is that, and no mistake,’ rejoined the trainer. ‘ I’ll 
tell you what, there’s mighty little to choose between the 
pair, at even weights.’ 

‘ What you mean to tell me you could win the Derby 
with either of them ?’ 

‘ I can tell you this,’ replied Stubber. ‘ Lucifer was in 
the trial just before the Middle Park Plate, and I set 
Damocles to give him seven pounds, and the dark ’un 
won clever by half a length.’ 

‘ By Jove, it is a hand of trumps, and no mistake!’ ex- 
claimed Mr Skinner. ‘ I only wish poor Dick had been 
alive to play ’em.’ 

‘ Isn’t it aggravating,’ said the trainer, ‘to have to deal 
with an owner who has the winner of the Derby in his 
stable, and can’t make up his mind as to whether he will 
sell the horse or win the race ?’ 

‘ Never you mind that, Stubber,’ replied the commis- 
sioner ; ‘a much greater puzzle, to my mind, is who is 
pulling the strings? The first time I saw John Bramton, 
I thought he knew nothing about horse-racing ; but I’m 
not at all sure about that now. I’m blessed if I don’t 
think his ignorance is all affectation. Now who put it 
into his head to keep Lucifer when he sold his horses? 
Answer me that.’ 

‘ Well, as 1 told you before,’ rejoined the trainer, ‘ I 
didn’t ; and it couldn’t have been his own judgment, be- 
cause he had never even seen him.’ 

‘ Just so,’ replied Mr Skinner meditatively ; ‘ and it isn’t 
likely that it was 1 ord Ranksborow. If the Earl was 
managing matters, there would be no question of selling 
Damocles.^ 

‘ Certainly not,’ replied Mr Stubber. ‘There is no man 
in England would make such a good thing of it if 
I'amocles is first past the post at Epsom next May.’ 


T tirf Tactics. 127 

‘Wliat ought to be done is quite clear,’ said Mr 
Skinner. ‘ Lord Ranksborow is perfectly reasonable, and 
would let Mr Bramton take as much as he liked of his 
book. The game would be to win the Derby with 
Damocles ; he would then naturally be first favourite for 
the Leger, and one would have the whole summer to bet 
against him in. Of course, at Doncaster, you would win 
with Lucifer, and the British public would once more 
discover that, in their anxiety to find the pea, they had 
again put their money down on the wrong thimble.’ 

‘It takes my breath away only to think of,’ said 
Stubber. ‘ There never was such a chance. It would set 
us all up for life ! ’ 

‘Ah!’ rejoined the commissioner, as he rose, ‘if poor 
Dick had only been alive to, as he used to say, “teach 
the British public that he didn’t keep horses exclusively 
for their amusement.” Well, Stubber, goodbye ;* we know 
how the game ought to be played, but it’s impossible to 
guess how it will be played, until we know who persuaded 
Mr Bramton to keep Lucifer.’ 

Still ruminating on this problem, Mr Skinner took his 
departure, destined to be still further astonished when, a 
little later on, he had elucidated the puzzle. As he said 
in after years, — ‘ I’ve seen many queer doings on the turf. 
I’m not a fool, and can generally get to the bottom of 
things ; but. Lord love me, when a lady owns racehorses, 
you don’t know where you are. They are creatures of 
impulse, you see, and would strike a horse out of a 
race, just because they found out that someone who has 
offended them, had backed it for a five pound note ! ’ 

Still turning over in his mind who could be John 
Bramton’s mysterious adviser, Mr Skinner made his way 
back to London. The only solution of the mystery that 
he could see, was that Richard Bramton must have left 
very minute instructions concerning the disposal of his 
stud ; but that such instructions would be embodied in a 
will, never for one instant crossed Mr Skinner’s imagina- 
tion. 

As for Stubber, that veteran trainer had never in all 
his life been so exercised about all his charges. He 
was conscious be had the care of probably the two best 


128 


Long Odds. 

two-year-olds of the year, — that there was the possibility of 
winning a very large sum over them in the ensuing year, 
if only they were judiciously managed. Skinner had 
most clearly indicated the tactics that ought to be pur- 
sued with them, and nothing could be more plain and 
straightforward. Mr Stubber had been a hard-working 
man all his life, he had done his duty fairly and conscien- 
tiously by his numerous employers, but he had not as yet 
succeeded in putting by much money. Now he had a 
chance of winning a nice little stake, at comparative!}' 
small risk, and here he was cursed with an employer to 
whom common sense — that is, from a racing point of view 
— seemed absolutely wanting. 

Well, it was no use; he had done his duty by the 
'osses, and meant doing it, but it was exasperating to 
think that they were the property of a man who took no 
pride in their victories, and did not, he veritably believed, 
know them apart. Besides the solid pudding, Mr Stubber 
further coveted a share of the laurels of his profession. 
He had never trained a winner of the classic races, and it 
was the first time that even the opportunity had been 
vouched him. Let alone the money, it was hard to be 
denied the chance of leading the winner of the Derby in, 
for once in his life. 

CHAPTER XX. 

•i'll make love to one. 

As Mr Skinner had surmised, Stubber’s incautious admis- 
sion that Lord Ranksborow had backed Damocles to win 
an enormous stake at Epsom, let a flood of light into the 
mind of John Bramton. He had often chuckled over his 
• noble neighbour's attempt to buy the colt from him at 
very much less than his value ; but he thought that was 
all, and in business, John Bramton looked upon that as 
a perfectly justifiable thing to do. Had he not been all 
his life endeavouring, and pretty successfully too, to buy 
in a cheap market and sell in a dear one. If Lord 
Ranksborow had contrived to have bought Damocles for 
a low sum, Bramton would merely have said, ‘Smart man 
his lordship, had me about that horse pretty tidily,' and 


!r// make Love to One! 129 

he would have set himself steadily to see how it was pos- 
sible to get the best of his lordship ; but he saw clearly 
now that Damocles represented quite a fortune to the 
Earl, and that the possession or control of the colt was a 
matter of the highest importance to him. This, then, was 
the reason why he so earnestly advised him not to part 
witli the horse ; this was the reason why, in the first place, 
he had been so anxious to buy, and this was the reason 
why the Knightshayes people had been so wondrous civil 
to them. Well, he was not a thin-skinned man ; his wife 
and daughters wanted to know the county magnates, and 
by what means it was brought about, was of little con- 
sequence. Mr Bramton chuckled much over his dis- 
covery, though, like a wise man, he did not think it 
necessary to acquaint his wife or daughters with it. 

Now if there was one thing likely to determine John 
Bramton not to part with Damocles, it was the fact of 
two or three people endeavouring to buy him. So much 
money had been made out of the colt’s successes, and 
his value had so evidently increased, that Bramton was 
afraid of not getting a sufficiently large sum for the horse. 
He felt that he did not as yet understand this new busi- 
ness that he had entered upon, but he had a leading idea 
that it was a business in which every man’s hand was 
against his neighbour. He was an active, good-natured 
man, devotedly attached to his daughters, next to which, 
his prevailing passion was money making. He was no 
niggard with his wealth, and spent it freely, but he never 
could resist the temptation of turning a penny, and had 
more than once — since he had been wealthy — ^purchased 
property solely with the view of selling it again. This 
propensity made him coquette with the offers about 
Damocles ; he w^ould not positively refuse to sell the colt, 
but always answered that he hadn’t made up his mind, — 
that he thought the horse was worth more than was bid. 
Pressed to say what he would take, he would reply vaguely 
that he would think it over, and let the bidder know. So 
that, during these winter months, the turf was much 
exercised about the fate of the favourite for next year’s 
Derby, while as for Mr Stubber, he declared ‘ he could not 
rest o’ nights for thinking of what news the post might 
I 


130 Long Odds. 

bring in the morning, — for thinking that at any moment 
he might hear the ’osses were to leave his stable 1 ^ 

In the meant me, he complied punctually with the 
instructions of his new master, by despatching him a 
bulletin of the health of his charges, or, as Mr Bramton 
put it, an ‘invoice of the stocks/ 

West Barkshire was very gay that winter, and the 
Bramtons by this time were well received in the county. 
Although John Bramton had not sustained the character 
of a sportsman, with which it had pleased his neighbours 
to endow him, yet he had made himself popular with that 
class. He had subscribed liberally to the hounds, and 
though he was never seen outside of a horse, a fox was 
always to be found in his coverts. Similarly, though he 
never shot himself, he was liberal in allowing other people 
to shoot over his estate, which, though not a large one, 
was well stocked with game. The daughters, too, were 
pretty, popular girls, and though they did not pretend to 
ride to hounds, were graceful and accomplished horse- 
women, and constantly to be seen at the covert side, 
attended by a sedate-looking groom, when the hounds 
met their side of the county. Then Temple Rising was 
a house in which things were well done. John Bramton, 
and his better-half also, were not the people for one 
instant to sanction lavish expenditure, but, on the other 
hand, if there was sharp supervision, there was no parsi- 
mony. 'I'he host knew what good wine was, and kept a 
good cook, so that Temple Rising speedily obtained the 
reputation of being a house worth staying in. Then the 
Ranksborows having taken them up, of course, gave the 
Bramtons a great lift in the county society, and it became 
the fashion to regard the vulgarisms of the parent 
Bramtons as mere eccentricities. The shrewd business 
capacities, too, of the master of Temple Rising, were 
becoming known in his neighbourhood, and he began to 
play his part in various local boards and directions, and 
had good reason to suppose that he would shortly be 
appointed a magistrate of the county. 

Knightshayes, too, had seen a good deal of company 
that winter, and amongst other men who had spent much 
fime there, were Lord Dartree and Alec Flood. Tb^ 


‘/V/ make Love to One! 


131 


eldest scion of the house of Ranksborow did not, as a rule, 
much trouble the paternal roof-tree. He usually came 
down there to shoot a little in the winter, — was apt to speak 
rather contemptuously of the West Barkshire hunt, and 
declared that the shires was the only place in which 
that sport was worth pursuing. But this year, motives of 
economy had compelled him to give up all idea of Lei- 
cestershire. Lord Dartree, indeed, was a gentleman who 
burnt the candle at both ends. He liked to race and bet 
heavily all the summer season, and to hunt all day, and 
play whist all night, at Melton, during the winter. He 
was no fool, but ‘cards will run the contrary way, as well 
is known to all who play,^ and racehorses do not always 
do what is expected of them ; and so Lord Dartree, who 
had had what is termed ‘a bad year,’ found himself con- 
strained to either hunt from Knightshayes, or not hunt at 
all, so, after bitter repinings at his confounded luck, Dar- 
tree made up his mind , to betake himself for this winter 
to the paternal roof-tree. ♦ 

The father and son were very good friends, but between 
the reigning monarch and the heir-apparent there is con- 
stantly friction about that little matter of the supplies. 
Dartree had always capacity for spending two or three 
times his income, while, on the other hand, if there was 
any excess of expenditure of that kind to be accomplished, 
the Earl was quite capable of doing it himself ; however. 
Lord Dartree and his father had never quarrelled much 
upon this point, as the former knew too well the true 
state of the case was that the Earl positively could not 
find the money if he tried. Father and son had had 
more than one serious talk over the situation, and they 
both ngreed that there was nothing but the victory of 
Damocles could keep their heads above water much 
longer. 

‘ 'fhere can be no doubt about it,’ said the Earl ; ‘ it be- 
hoves us to be mighty civil to those Temple Rising people, 
and, if possible, make Bramton keep Damocles till after 
Epsom. Stubber will do him every justice, and he told 
me, last time I saw him, that the colt was thoroughly 
sound, wind and limb.’ 

‘ Surely Bramton would only be too glad to rely upon 


Long Odds. 

the experience of an old turfite like yourself/ observed 
Dartree. 

‘ Tm not at all sure about that/ replied the Earl. ‘ He is 
sharp enough, and given to decide things for himself. 
His weak point is a desire to get into society. He thinks 
a deal of knowing us ; and what influence I possess over 
him, comes from that ; and it tickles the vanity of his wife 
and daughters to be taken up by a countess/ 

Dartree laughed, as he replied, — 

‘ The wind sets in that quarter, does it ? My mother, 
I think, can be safely left to manage all that.* 

‘Yes; she told me so, and she has done her spiriting 
very well. She has managed to infuse considerable enthu 
siasm for the turf into the two Miss Bramtons. By the 
way, as you’re going to be down here for the winter, you 
might do your part. IVe known you pretty good at the 
philandering business, when there was no good to be 
gained by it.* 

‘ All right, sir,* replied Lord Dartree gaily. ‘ Lll make 
love to one, or both the young ladies, if you like. Nut 
an unpleasant task that, for they are a couple of very 
pretty girls.* 

‘ Yes, they are that ; but mind. Dart, don’t be a fool, 
and go too far, or else it’ll end in a row, — the very thing 
we want to avoid.* 

In compliance with this conversation, Lord Dartree 
took every opportunity of making himself agreeable to 
the Miss Bramtons. At first he was perfectly indiscrimin- 
ate in his attentions, but the character of the two girls 
soon decided him on confining himself to one. 

Miss Bramton was a coquette to the tips of her fingers, 
a thorough adept in the art of flirtation, and always ready 
to respond to any challenge of that nature. Then another 
thing that swayed the mischievous Dartree in his choice 
of the two girls, was the discovery, to his delight, that he 
was making Sir Kenneth Sandeman jealous ; for that 
gentleman, after much vacillation, had thor^ghly settled 
down as Miss Matilda’s admirer. Sir Kenneth had made 
up his mind to prosecute his suit in real earnest, and he 
viewed with some dismay the appearance in the field of 
so formidable an antagonist. He counted so immensely 


‘77/ make Love to One! 1 33 

upon the position that he could confer upon any lady he* 
might make his wife, but he was forced to admit that to 
be Lady Sandeman could not compare with the prospect 
of becoming Countess of Ranksborow. As for Miss 
Matilda, she was in high glee, smiled sweetly on both 
her admirers, and played them off against each other, 
like the accomplished actress a woman of her nature 
invariably is. 

The Knightshayes people mixed freely in all the 
gaieties of the winter. The Ladies Cuxwold were girls 
really fond of dancing, and went to most of the county 
balls in their vicinity; they also were constantly to be 
found at the covert side, so that altogether the Bramtons 
saw a good deal of their noble neighbours. 

A man who apparently paid a good deal of attention 
to Lucy, was Alec Flood. Nobody had ever suspected 
Alec of being a marrying man — not that he was in the 
slightest degree a misogynist. On the contrary, he could 
talk pleasantly enough with women, and rather affected 
their society; but Alec Flood was a man with queer ways 
and whims. You must not think from this that he was 
eccentric in his manners or dress. He was as conven- 
tional, pleasant, gentlemanly a man as you would meet in 
any London drawing-room ; but then he would disappear 
from his friends without notice, and for an indefinite 
period. He would pack his portmanteau, and depart for 
the other side of the world, just as the whim seized him. 
He got tired of a place, or it might be with the people he 
was associating with ; and the absurd reasons he gave for 
his caprices, were the delight of his friends. Sometimes 
he could no longer stand the prevailing fashion in dress : 
he had been known to assert that he had left England be- 
cause he could really bear the sight of red parasols no 
longer ! He had gone to the East, at another time, to 
escape from the intolerable garrulity of the House of 
Commons, as administered to him by the daily journals. 

‘ I started/ he said, on that occasion, ‘ simply in search 
of a place without a paper. ^ 

‘ And you found it ? ’ inquired one of his auditors, 

‘Oh, yes, I found it; there’s not much trouble about 
finding such a place in the East. No, you need not ask 


134 Long Odds. 

where it is. You^re quite cai)able of going out and 
setting up a local paper, if you knew that ! ’ 

The real fact of the matter was, that Alec Flood was an 
idle man with independent means, and an inexhaustible 
lust of travel. He kept a permanent set of rooms in 
London, which, as Dartree said, was the one place on the 
globe in which you need never expect to find him. 

Lucy Bramton most certainly attracted him. There was 
a certain bond of sympathy between them, in the remem- 
brance of the peculiar circumstances under which they 
had first met; and Lucy liked to hear him talk of the 
queer adventures he had met with, and the strange places 
he had been in. Alec, when he liked, was a good talker, 
and also had the faculty of narration ; he was by no 
means always to be induced to recount his own experi 
ences, but, when he was, he usually held his hearers en- 
chained for the time. Then they had another point of 
mutual interest, and that was no other than the Honour- 
able Jack Cuxwold. Jack was one of Alec Flood’s special 
friends. They had been travelling companions manya time 
and oft, and had stood side by side in more than one of 
those awkward incidents that turn up when you abandon 
the railways of civilisation, and betake yourself to 
camels, mules, and the charge of Bedouins or other 
scarce dependable escort. It might have been supposed 
that Lucy would have heard much more of Jack from his 
own people, but it was not so. Jack Cuxwold was not 
much given to letter writing, and wrote far more fre- 
quently to Alec Flood than he did to anyone else. Alec 
was, it need hardly be said, on the best of terms with 
them all, and a favoured visitor at Knightshayes ; but it 
was as Jack’& especial friend that he was always regarded, 
and it was indeed through his friendship for the latter 
that he first became acquainted with the Ranksborow 
family. Both Flood and Lucy followed the accounts of 
the great procession of boats up the Nile with the keen- 
est interest, and this again, perhaps, drew them somewhat 
together. Still, it never occurred for one Instant to any 
of the Knightshayes people that there could be anything 
between Alec Flood and Lucy Bramton. 


Another Bid for Damocles, 


*35 


CHAPTER XXL 

ANOTHER BID FOR DAMOCLES. 

Hr’s absurd/ exclaimed Miss Bramton, ‘but it is so like 
jjapa I As Lord Dartree said the other day, he does not seem 
to comprehend his obligations. As an owner of racehorses, 
he is a public character. People look at him, as the owner 
of the favourite for the Derby, with great interest, and 
now he talks of selling Damocles. Why, it would be to lose 
all our prestige in the county. It mustn’t be, mamma ! ’ 
‘ I quite agree with you, Matilda ; but you know what 
your father is ! He is such a one for turning a penny.’ 

‘ Still,’ said Lucy quietly, ‘ if the horse wins the race, we 
shall get the stakes, and still have him to sell. ’ 

‘Just what I pointed out to your father,’ said Mrs 
Bramton. ‘ But he says he is no gambler, and that 
should Damocles be beat, he won’t be worth so much 
as he is now. He declares if he gets a good bid, from 
a good man, he shall close.’ 

‘ It’s really too bad of him,’ said Miss Bramton, in mor- 
tified tones. 

Lucy knit her brows, and then remarked quietly, — 
‘Don’t fret about it, Matilda; I will speak to papa. 
I think, when I remind him that Damocles was Uncle 
Dick’s dying bequest, he won’t insist upon it. My wishes 
surely ought to be consulted in the matter, and they are 
to carry out Uncle Dick’s intentions to the best of my 
ability.’ 

‘ Quite right, Lucy,’ said Miss Bramton. Of course your 
wishes ought to be considered; and I am sure you 
would not be, what Lord Dartree calls so “ unsportsman- 
like,” as to part with the favourite on the eve of a big 
race.’ 

‘Of course not,’ cried Lucy, langhing. ‘England 
expects that every sportsman shall do his duty, if he can ; 
and we really must amongst us keep papa up to the 
mark ; at least that is what Lord Dartree says, is it not ? ’ 

‘ Yes,’ replied Miss Bramton. ‘ It’s what everyone says ; 
and it can’t be too much impressed on papa that he is 
now a public character, — that what he did when he was 


1^6 Long Odds. 

nobody at Wimbledon didn't matter, but it's very different 
now he is Mr Bramton of Temple Rising.’ 

‘Why, do you know, mamma, I overheard Mr Berri- 
man say that he wondered whether Mr Bramton had any 
idea of coming forward for the county.' 

‘Lor' !' said Mrs Bramton ; ‘just fancy your father an 
M.P.' 

‘ I trust he won't think of it,' said Lucy. ‘ We shall most 
likely get into hot water with the Knightshayes people.' 

‘ How so ? ' inquired Miss Bramton. 

‘ Why, papa's politics are different from Lord Ranks- 
borow's ; and I have an idea that the Earl considers this 
division ot the county should be represented by someone 
who meets with his approval. I have an idea that the 
noble lord can be very awkward when he is thwarted.' 

‘Did you get your information from Mr Flood, my 
dear ? ' asked Miss Bramton, somewhat maliciously 

‘ In part,' rejoined Lucy. ‘ However, I don't suppose we 
need trouble our heads about that yet The main thing is 
at present, that we keep Damocles.' 

‘ Carried, ne7n. con. 1 ' exclaimed Miss Bramton. 

The scene of the above conversation was the drawing- 
room at Temple Rising, and, as may be gathered from it, 
neither Mrs Bramton nor her eldest daughter were aware 
that the absolute control of Damocles rested with Lucy. 
They had seen John Bramton authorise the sale of 
several horses in July, and they looked upon it that, as 
Lucy's trustee, it was quite at his discretion to do as he 
liked about the three remaining ones. The girl herself 
knew better, but she made no mention of her powers to 
anyone. But, for all that, she is very determined on the 
one point, — that Damocles should run for the Derby, and 
that they shall be all there to see. With the exception 
of the one experience of the Julys, Lucy has as yet seen 
nothing of her horses ; but she was fully determined that 
should not be the case next year. As before said, she 
differed much from her sister with regard to racing. To 
Matilda Bramton it was simply a matter of an outing, 
— a picnic, a garden-party, what you will ; but Lucy, as far 
as she understood it, felt a genuine interest in it. How- 
ever, this was all over for the present, and her interests 


A nother Bid for Damocles. 137 

just now were far more centred in the great expedition 
up the Nile, than in the gallops of Mr Stubber’s charges. 

An event looked forward to with great interest in the 
neighbourhood was the Hunt Ball, and steeplechases at 
Wroxeter. This was an annual business which usually 
attracted a large gathering, and filled the hotels. The 
country gentlemen, with their wives and daughters, all 
flocked into the county town to enjoy a ball in the even- 
ing, and to wind up with a day’s cross-country racing on 
the morrow. Both at Knightshayes and Temple Rising 
great interest was manifested about the steeplechases, for 
Lord Dartree was going to run a horse, which he had 
been duly qualifying with the West Barkshire hounds, 
and meant to ride himself. And as he had already shown 
himself a promising horseman, his family were all san- 
guine of his success. In fact, it had been settled between 
the two families that they should join forces, and put up 
at the same hotel at Wroxeter for the affair. Both the 
Earl and John Bramton were stewards of the races, — 
the former according to annual custom ; while as to the 
latter, as the clerk of the course put it, — ‘How could 
you leave out the owner of the favourite for the coming 
Derby?* more especially when, as in John Bramton’s 
case, he was in a position to give a liberal donation to 
the Race Fund. 

The vanity of the master of Temple Rising was not a 
little tickled by the compliment He liked to be con- 
sidered a patron of horse-racing. One thing about which 
impressed him very favourably, namely, that it involved 
no suggestion of his getting on a horse himself. As in the 
summer time he was exercised on the subject of his get- 
up, and had some thoughts of consulting Lord Dartree 
on the subject. But that young gentleman had recently 
horrified him by suggesting that he, Mr Bramton, should 
pick up a steeplechaser, and run it at Wroxeter ; and a 
horse for any purposes of racing Mr Bramton looked upon 
as a very unprofitable investment. However, he need 
not have taken alarm, as Lord Dartree’s was one of those 
idle suggestions men make vaguely for mere conversa- 
tion. In the meantime, Mr Stubber’s weekly reports from 
Newmarket were of the most glowing description. Mr 


138 Long Odds. 

Bramton was quite unaware of it, but it was a standing 
jest amongst the sporting men of West Barkshire to ask 
after the health of Damocles, Mr Bramton^s quaint re- 
plies to such interrogations being always a source of amuse- 
ment. He would reply, ‘ He was doing nicely,' that ‘ he 
was as well as could be expected,' which, though not 
absolutely wrong, is hardly the way men express them- 
selves about horses. But there was one thing John 
Bramton knew better than to say about Damocles, to 
wit, that he had the slightest idea of selling him. True, 
he had told the Earl of Ranksborow that he had some 
thoughts of it, and said so openly at the dinner-table at 
Knightshayes, but it was tacitly understood in the neigh- 
bourhood that he had abandoned his intention. And the 
Earl probably was the only man in Barkshire who still 
suspected him of that idea. 

One afternoon the Earl rode over to Temple Rising, 
and, after paying his respects to the ladies, told John 
Bramton that he wanted to say a word to him on busi- 
ness. Mr Bramton at once led the way to his study. 

‘Now, my lord,’ he said, ‘there’s nobody will interrupt 
us here. I am at your service.’ 

‘ I heard this morning, from a man in whom I place 
the greatest confidence, that you were about to receive, 
if you’ve not already received, a very liberal offer for 
Damocles. You would, I fancy, find the money all right, 
and the nominal purchaser would be a Mr Robertson. 
I trust you won’t make up your mind to sell.’ 

‘ I don’t know,’ replied Mr Brainton. ‘ I really could 
not give you an answer on that point at present.’ 

‘Well, whatever you do,’ replied Lord Ranksborow, 
‘ you ought to know fairly what you’re doing, which will 
very possibly not be the case.’ 

‘ I don’t understand you,’ replied Mr Bramton. ‘ Surely 
I can dispose of property to anyone I like? And this Mr 
Robertson, you say, could be relied on to pay for the 
goods ? ’ 

‘ Quite so, I fancy ; but he will make one condition.’ 

‘ What is that ? ’ asked Bramton. 

‘That you say nothing to anyone about having parted 
with the horse.’ 


Another Bid for Damocles. 139 

‘ Well/ rejoined Bramton, ‘ I see no great harm in that. 
I have bought myself occasionally under somewhat similar 
conditions, such as saying nothing about the price, etc.’ 

‘ No ; but you will have sold him into the hands of a set 
of bookmakers, who will not start him for the Derby.’ 

‘ Oh, come, my lord, that’s not likely. Men don’t buy 
horses at the sort of price they’ll have to give for Damocles, 
just to keep him to look at.’ 

‘They will bid against him all the spring,’ returned the 
Earl, ‘ and then not run him.’ 

‘ That wouldn’t matter to me,’ replied Bramton. ‘ I don’t 
bet, and they would have a right to do what they like 
with their own.’ 

‘ The public thinks there is a limit to that, when it comes 
to racing,’ replied the Earl ; ‘and you must bear in mind 
that if this sale is kept a secret, the horse will be regarded 
as yours till such time as it pleases them to strike it out. 
All the obloquy of the transaction would rest on your 
head.’ 

‘ Well, my lord, that, of course, will be considered in the 
price.’ 

‘ You don’t quite understand me, Mr Bramton.’ 

‘ Better than you think, my lord,’ mentally ejaculated 
the owner of Temple Rising, who, placed through Slubber 
in possession of the fact that the Earl had backed Damo- 
cles at long odds to win an enormous stake, conceived 
himself perfectly aware of the Earl’s object in preventing 
any sale of the horse. 

‘Allow me to point out to you,’ continued Lord Ranks- 
borow, ‘that it will destroy your social position here. There 
are lots of people all over England, not in the least to be 
called betting men, who always have a modest bet upon 
the Derby. Your friend Berriman, for instance, always 
goes up to see it, and has a tenner on the race. You 
don’t understand racing, Mr Bramton, but you will find 
yourself very much cold-shouldered if you part with your 
horse to these people.’ 

‘ Then you mean to say,’ rejoined Mr Bramton testily, 

‘ that I’m expected not to part with the horse.’ 

‘ I don’t say that,’ rejoined Lord Ranksborow. ‘ I think 
you’ll be unwise if you part with him to these people. 


140 Long Odds. 

But, sell to whom you may, mind it is quite an open 
transaction, and don't leave it till too late.' 

‘You think, then, Mr Berriman would cut me; and I 
suppose you and all the other folks round about would 
do the same ? ’ 

‘ That, Mr Bramton,' replied the Earl, with studied polite- 
ness, ‘ is a point on which it is quite unnecessary to give an 
opinion. I have backed your horse myself, and feel sure 
that such a mistake as you might have made through 
ignorance in selling him to Mr Robertson, will never be 
committed. I shall be sorry if you sell him at all, but 
perfectly acknowledge your right to dispose of him in an 
open way. Good-bye.' 

‘Good-bye, my lord,' rejoined Bramton, ‘and you may 
rest quite satisfied that I shall bear in mind what you say.' 

Mr Bramton meditated for some time upon his visitor's 
remarks. He had quite made up his mind, at the begin- 
ning of the conversation, that the Earl was speaking entirely 
in his own interests ; and so he owned he was ; but it had 
occurred to that astute diplomatist that this was a sale 
which it was quite possible for him to prevent. As he rightly 
conjectured, John Bramton, in his ignorance of racing, had 
no idea of the social slur that would attach to him had he 
parted with Damocles under such conditions ; and in his 
owm county Lord Ranksborow knew very well that the 
people would side with him if he pronounced social ostra- 
cism on John Bramton should he act in this manner. 
As for the latter, it need scarcely be said that this was a view 
of things that had never presented itself to him before. 
He was getting not a little puffed up by the position he 
had succeeded in obtaining in the county, and the idea 
of forfeiting all that was not only repugnant to him, but 
he knew would produce a frightful storm in his family. Mr 
Bramton was an obstinate man, and generally pretty re- 
solute in what he meant to do, but he rather feared a 
battle-royal with his wife, and, in a more modified degree, 
with his eldest daughter, and he knew the mouths of the 
ladies would be filled with bitter reproach should he jeo- 
pardise their popularity in the neighbourhood. 

‘No,' he muttered to himself; ‘it's possible to cut your 
fingers over a smart stroke of business, and I think I'll 


Front de Boetif, 141 

have nothing to do with this. When Lord Ranksborow 
wanted to buy Damocles himself, he was offering a deal 
less than the horse was worth. In short,’ chuckled Mr 
Bramton to himself, ‘ was trying to take advantage of my 
youth and inexperience. He was not likely to blazon 
that story abroad, as it rather told against himself ; while 
the neighbourhood could only laugh, and say, that I was 
not such a fool as the noble Earl took me for. But I 
understand now that to part with this horse before the 
Derby, will occasion all sorts of nasty remarks about me ; 
and, by George ! it’s no use getting into society, only to 
be kicked out of it. And then — oh my ! just think of 
Margaret and Matilda on the rampage ! No — I’m dashed ! 
We’ll stick to Damocles, and win the Derby.’ 

Lord Ranksborow had struck the keynote at last, and 
would have been highly delighted with his morning’s 
work, had he but known it. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

FRONT DE BCEUF. 

When Jack Cuxwold strugglea back to consciousness, a 
soft hand was laving his temples and moistening his 
swollen lips. He knew not where he was, he knew not 
into whose hands he had fallen, and had but a vague re- 
membrance of what had happened to him. He strove to 
speak, but his tongue, swollen to an unnatural size, and 
hard as iron, refused to articulate. He had, in the course 
of the campaign, picked up a smattering of Arabic, and 
therefore quite comprehended when a woman’s voice said 
to him gently, — ‘ Be still ; try and swallow this.’ With 
some difficulty at first he gulped down some half-dozen 
mouthfuls of water, then the rigid muscles began to 
relax, and he drank copiously. He was soon so far 
revived as to be able to assist his preserver, and to bathe 
his own face ; and then he tried to raise himself, and to 
see who it was that had come to his rescue. 

It was an Arab girl who, having strayed some slight* * 
distance from her tribe, had unexpectedly come across him. 
Her horse was standing some few paces off, attentively 


142 Long Odds. 

watching the proceedings of his young mistress. Jack 
strove to rise to his feet, but was unable. 

‘ Lie still,’ said the girl ; ‘ continue bathing your face 
and body, and drink when you feel inclined. Some of 
my people will soon find us, and they will have plenty 
more water. Stay! I had best leave you for a few 
minutes. Do as I tell you, and don’t stir until I come 
back : I go for further help.’ 

She was true to her word. In less than ten minutes 
she returned with some four or five fine-looking Arabs, 
who throwing themselves from their horses, at once began 
to render assistance to the unfortunate waif who had 
fallen into their hands. Cuxwold was, by this time, 
sufficiently recovered to sit up. By perpetually rubbing 
him, by perpetually bathing his face and temples, and by 
constant draughts of cold water. Jack at length was so 
far himself again as to struggle to his feet. That the 
Arabs were quite aware that he was an English officer, 
he gathered from their gestures, and, though they showed 
no inclination to plunder or ill-use him, he had a strong 
impression that he was a prisoner in their hands. He 
noticed that the men paid great deference to the girl who 
had at first discovered him, so he appealed to her to 
replenish his water bottle, restore him his dromedary, 
and put him on his way to the Wells of Abu Klea or 
Jakdul, whichever he might be nearest. But her answer 
was prompt, though gentle, — 

‘ Englishman,’ said she, ‘ you are not strong enough to 
proceed, nor would you ever find your way across the 
trackless sands to the route you have strayed from. You 
must stay in our tents for a day or two, till you have 
recovered. And then my father Mohammed Sebekh, 
sheikh of the Halawins, will consider what is best to be 
done with you ; but I will answer for your safety.’ 

Jack Cuxwold felt there was nothing for it but to 
submit. He was making a terrible mess of his errand , 
but what could he do ? His clear duty was to deliver 
those despatches as quickly as might be, and to fight his 
way through any Arabs who might try to meddle with 
him, let the odds against him be ever so great. His 
captors had not disarmed him, but it was little likely that 


Front de Bosuf. 143 

they would permit him to mount his dromedary. They 
had saved his life undoubtedly, and he could hardly 
repay them by, in his endeavour to escape, taking theirs. 
Then, again, he was completely lost in the desert, and 
little likely to recover the track without their assistance. 
All these things ran rapidly through his mind, and led 
to the only conclusion possible, — that he must give up all 
thoughts for the present of continuing his journey, and 
merely await such time as it pleased his captors to give 
him permission to proceed. They seated him once more 
upon his dromedary, and the girl then sprang lightly on 
her horse, and led the way. Jack noticed that the Arabs, 
although apparently leaving him at liberty, clustered 
round him in such manner as would make escape exces- 
sively difficult ; and after riding some five or six miles, he 
was fain to confess that he was hardly in a fit state for a 
sha'rp hand-to-hand fight. Consumed with thirst, he had 
been utterly unable to eat, and this, with the agony he 
had endured, had temporarily exhausted his strength. A 
very little further, and they came to the Arab encampment. 

The dusky tents of the children of Ishmael were situ- 
ated in a ravine, at the bottom of which was the most 
precious of all discoveries in the desert, namely water. 
The destruction of wells is, by the unwritten law of the 
desert, the one thing prohibited in warfare, and the fierce 
battle of Abu Klea, like the fierce struggle of Abu Kru, 
were both fought in the main to keep the infidels from 
the water. I'he Arab will callously condemn you to 
perish by thirst, but it must be by other means than 
tampering with the wells. 

And now his captors signed to Cuxvvold to dismount, 
and no sooner was that accomplished than they con- 
ducted him towards a ten^ which, from its standing a 
little apart from the others, and from its larger size, 
proclaims itself the dwelling of someone of importance. 

‘ Englishman,’ said the girl, ‘ you must first be brought 
before my father, and then you shall have the food and 
rest, of which you doubtless stand in need.’ 

Raising the curtain of the tent, his conductor mo- 
tioned him to follow her, and then Cuxwold was simply 
struck dumb with astonishment A man, something 


144 Long Odds, 

over six feet high, rose to receive him, clad in a complete 
suit of chain armour. A singularly handsome man, whose 
black moustache and beard were but slightly grizzled. 
A superbly-built fellow, who wore his panoply of the 
Middle Ages as if to the manner born, looking every 
inch a chief, and one destined from birth to rule his 
brethren. He rose at Cuxwold’s approach, and, fixing 
his dark eyes keenly upon Jack, said, in a courteous voice, 

‘ Stranger, you are welcome to our tents,’ and then 
glanced at his daughter for an explanation. 

‘ Father,’ she said, ‘ I found this Englishman lost in the 
desert and dying of thirst. I have saved him, and my 
word is pledged for his life ; but all else is left in your 
hands.’ 

‘ Englishman, you have heard,’ said the Sheikh. 
* Your life is my daughter’s, as, but for her, you would 
have perchance fed the birds of the air by this ; for the 
rest, you are my prisoner.’ 

Jack bent his head in reply, and once more gazed in 
astonishment at the Sheikh. He thought of the ‘ Talis- 
man,’ for the man whom he stood before might, as far 
as his attire went, have been the Knight of the Leopard 
himself. 

‘You have come into a country,’ continued the chief, 
‘ to interfere with a quarrel that does not concern you. 
What are those dogs of Egyptians to you, that you 
should espouse their quarrel? — white-livered hounds, who 
have always fled before our spears. If I have not taken 
part against you, it is because that I believe that there is 
but one God, and Mahomet is His prophet, and that the 
Mahdi is but a lying prophet ; but had it been a mere 
question of the Arab fighting against the Egyptian, my 
tribe should have fought against you at Abu Klea, and 
died to the last man, before you drank the blue waters of 
the Nile.’ 

‘ Father,’ interfered the girl, ' the Englishman is faint 
from hunger and fatigue ; let him rest now, I beseech 
you.’ 

‘ It is good Take him, Zelnb, and see that his wants 
are attended to.’ 

The girl made a sign to him that his audience was 


Fro 7 tt de Bceuf, 145 

over, and after bowing to the Sheikh, Jack Cuxwold 
followed his conductress out of the tent. They were no 
sooner outside, than Zelnh made a sign to him to give up 
his arms, which she at once handed to one of the attend- 
ant Arabs. Then, leading the way to a similar, though 
smaller, canvas dwelling, she threw open the door and 
said, ‘ Rest, Englishman, food and water shall be brought 
to you immediately.’ 

Left to himself. Jack Cuxwold began to muse over the 
situation. He certainly felt that his life was safe enough, 
but he was probably destined to undergo a considerable 
captivity. He had heard numerous stories of these restless 
children of the desert. How bitter they could be in 
fight, how reckless of their own lives, and merciless to 
their foes in the hour of victory, he knew well. They 
neither asked nor gave quarter. In all the hard fighting 
he had seen, not once had he observed the stricken 
Arab, 

‘Raise the craven cry AmanT 

but, once within their tents, he knew his life was sacred, 
and that unless he attempted to escape he ran no danger 
whatever. Still they could have no object in detaining 
him for any length of time, unless, it suddenly flashed 
across him, they put a pretty heavy ransom on his head. 
That stately warrior of the Middle Ages, Mohammed 
Sebekh, might be as mediaeval in his habits as Front de 
Boeuf ; but here the arrival of an Arab maiden with his 
repast put an end to his reflections, and, his meal once 
finished. Jack Cuxwold sank into a dreamless slumber. 

When Jack awoke the next morning, that light-hearted 
Lancer felt quite himself again, and once mpre reverted 
to his reflections of the previous evening. ‘ Hum,’ he 
muttered, ‘ that brevet Majority for the carrying of de- 
spatches has dissolved itself into a mere mental delusion , 
' and here is one of the brightest ornaments of Her 
Majesty’s service, a prisoner in the tents of Shem. How 
that blessed old Crusader came by his rig-out I’d give 
something to know. There was no look of Birmingham 
about that sheet of mail. Indeed, in no old armoury 
I ever was in, did I see more beautiful steel links. I 
wonder whether the old legend is true, that when the 
K 


146 Long Odds. 

Saracens were driven out of Palestine by the Crusaders, 
they crossed into the Soudan. Anyway, my friend here, 
who seems to regret he was not leading his merry men 
against us at Al u Klea, seems to have just come out 
of that campaign of eight centuries ago. A Saladin in 
Coeur de Leon armour ; and, by Jove ! 1 wonder what he 
intends to do with me. Deuced pretty girl his daughter ; 
in short, the family is good-looking, and seems well- 
mannered, as far as I have got, but a chieftain who wears 
a steel frock coat, may be expected to develop a touch 
of Front de Boeuf at any moment. 

Jack Cuxwold is making no very wild conjectures, as 
there are certainly good grounds for supposing that the 
Arabs, when driven out of Palestine, overran the Soudan, 
and drove out or made slaves of the negroes, both there 
and in the northern part of Kordofan, the warrior race, 
as usual, making short work of the inferior. 

Two things Jack was very anxious to discover. The 
first was his whereabouts, and the second was how he 
had got off the route. The first of these questions was 
speedily cleared up, the Arab girl who brought him 
his food informing him, in reply to his questions, that 
they were camped by the Wells of Bayuda ; and this 
made clear to Jack how it was that he had lost his way, 
for although he had never seen or been near iho c wells, 
he, like most other officers, had pored over sucii charts 
of the desert as the force had with them ; and there were 
a good many of such charts. The desert was pretty well 
known, and it is almost unnecessary to say that the 
situation of the wells were among the most prominent 
landmarks. Cuxwold knew very well that the Bayuda 
Wells were about fifty miles south-west of the Wells of 
Jakdul, and that, therefore, when he had been discovered 
by Zelnfe, he had been in all probability somewhere about 
forty miles from these latter wells. On leaving Metammeh, 
he must very soon have struck too much to the west, 
thereby missing the Wells of Abu Klea, and so, getting off 
the regular route, he had drifted hopelessly and aimlessly 
into the desert. He strolled out of the tent and gazed 
about him. The number of camels and horses betokened 
a wealthy and powerful tribe. The men, too, were tall, 


Front de Boeuf, 147 

fine-looking fellows, exceedingly well-armed, and Jack 
could not help thinking that it was quite as well his 
religious convictions had made Mohammed Sebekh hold 
aloof from the fray. ‘ A very dangerous contingent to 
have had against us at Abu Kru,’ muttered Jack. 

Me had not been strolling about very long, indulging 
in all the luxury of a pipe, when a wild-looking Arab came 
up and made him understand that the Sheikh wanted to 
speak to him. 

After a courteous salutation, Mohammed said to him, — 

‘ I want you to explain to me why you English have come 
into the Soudan. We came from across the sea, and won 
the land by our swords from the Ethiopians, a far bolder 
race than these miserable Egyptians, who have ever since 
been endeavouring to take it from us. With the help of 
Turkish soldiers, they have sometimes succeeded, but 
only to pay bitterly for it in the long run. Now you 
have come to help them, and none of you will ever see 
Korti again.' 

‘ As far as I am concerned, it depends pretty much upon 
yourself,' replied Jack, in a devil-may-care sort of way, 
‘ but I fancy my comrades will come through all right, 
although Em quite willing to admit your people fight 
splendidly.' 

‘ You think so, Englishman,' replied the Sheikh. ‘ You 
think to find your great Pasha alive in Khartoum. He is 
dead ; and the city in the hands of the Mahdi.' 

‘ If what you tell me is true,' replied Jack, ‘ I can only 
say a grand soldier has gone to his death, and that every 
Englishman will be sorry we were too late to save him.' 

‘ An Arab has not two tongues : what he speaks is the 
truth,' rejoined the Sheikh. 

‘ By Jove ! that is pretty tall talking,' muttered Jack to 
himself. ‘ At lying and thieving, I should say an Arab is 
quite as good as his neighbours.' 

‘ Yes,' continued the Sheikh, ‘you were too late to save 
him, and you are too late to save yourselves. An Arab 
knows how to revenge himself. You know the story of 
Nimr, the tiger of Shendy. When Mahomet Ali sent his 
son Ismail down to Shendy to collect tribute, Ismail 
treated Nimr, the Sheikh of the Shaygyehs with contempt, 


148 Long Odds. 

and even went so far as to strike him with the stem of 
his chibouk. He had better have struck a tiger. He no 
longer pleaded for time to meet IsmaiFs demands, but 
promised that all should be gathered at once. Camels, 
sheep, horses, corn, dhurra money, were collected and 
brought to the Pasha with the greatest alacrity and cheer- 
fulness. Ismail and his troops were invited to partake 
of a great banquet The merissa was handed freely 
about to both guards and sentries ; at midnight, a great 
cry arose, a circle of flame surrounded the town, for the 
Shaygyehs had fired the corn. Ismail and his guard 
were burnt to cinders, and not one of his followers 
escaped the claws of the “ tiger of Shendy.” ^ 

* It is just as well that bloodthirsty old ruffian died a 
good many years ago,* thought Jack. ‘Well, Sheikh,’ 
he remarked aloud, ‘ my countrymen are in the open, and, 
if Gordon Pasha is dead, will return to Korti ; and,’ he 
concluded haughtily, ‘ all the Arabs in the Soudan won’t 
stop them.’ 

Mohammed gave a contemptuous smile as he replied, — 
‘ For the present, Englishman, you are safer in my hands 
than anywhere else. Your life is safe, but if^our friends 
desire to see you again, they will have to pay for it,’ and, 
with a stately wave of his hand, the Sheikh intimated that 
their interview was over. 

‘Ah,’ said Jack to himself, as he stepped out of the 
tent, ‘thoroughly mediaeval in his ideas, as I anticipated. 
Now, as there is no knowing what old Front de Boeuf will 
ask, and no knowing what ready money the contingencies 
of Newmarket have left the governor, my ransom will 
be a complicated affair. ’Tisn’t likely a grateful country 
is going to pay a lot of money to recover a fellow who 
was d — d fool enough to lose his way.’ 

CHAPTER XXIIL 

FRONT DE BCEUF’s LITTLE BILL. 

After leaving the Sheikh, Jack Cuxwold strolled to the 
verge of the encampment. Though he had nominally no 
guard over him, yet he had little doubt but that a keen 
eye was kept on his movements. Moreover, had he been 


Pront de Boeufs Little BilL 149 

free to start that moment, he had no knowledge of which 
way to travel. He strolled idly on to the edge of the en- 
campment, when suddenly he came upon Zelnfe, who, with 
one or two other maidens, was sitting gossiping at a tent 
door. The girl rose when she perceived him, and ad- 
vanced to meet him, with the firm step and assured air of 
one who is a great lady amongst her people. Jack had 
thought her pretty the previous day, but he had then been 
too exhausted to take due notice of her charms. Now he 
did her full justice. As he gazed on the lithe straight 
figure, the glossy dark hair, all broidered with gold coins, 
the soft, liquid black eyes, and delicately-chiselled feat- 
ures, Jack was fain to admit that in her own style he 
had seldom seen so handsome a girl as this Eastern 
beauty. 

‘ You are rested, Englishman, and have seen my father?’ 

* Yes,’ replied Jack. ‘ I have to thank you for saving 
my life. But for you, I must have perished in the desert’ 

‘ And what said my father to you ? ’ asked Zelnh 

‘ That I must remain his prisoner. He seems angry at 
our presence in the desert, and says that my countrymen 
will never leave it, — that they are destined to lay their 
bones here.’ 

‘ What my father says will probably happen,’ replied 
Zelnh, ‘ It is well for you that you are with us. Wlien you 
have breathed the air of the desert for a few months, you 
will no longer desire to dwell in cities. Come and sit 
down with us. You shall tell us all about your own 
country. I have seen but few of your people.’ 

So the Lancer seated himself on the carpet by the side 
of the group of girls, devoutly wishing that he could only 
tuck his long legs away as cleverly as his companions, and 
good-humouredly submitted to a severe cross-examination 
about the habits and customs of his country. 

Zelnfe was treated with considerable deference by the 
other maidens, and was indeed the principal spokeswoman. 
But, much to Jack’s astonishment, he found another of the 
girls, who, like Zelnfe, knew a little English. The con- 
versation, indeed, was carried on in a species of polyglot 
of English, Arabic, and pantomime, attended by much 
laughter. And Cuxwold began to think that tiis cap- 


ISO Long Odds. 

tivity would be at all events not hard to bear. Suddenly 
the tinkling of bells fell upon the ear. The girls stopped 
their chattering, and Zeln^ exclaimed, — 

‘ It is odd ; strangers are approaching the wells. It is 
singular, for the Wells of Bayuda lie apart from any recog- 
nised track, and are seldom visited by caravans or traders.’ 

‘ There would hardly be traders about in such times as 
these,’ remarked Cuxwold. 

‘See,’ rejoined Zelne, ‘those are traders,’ and she 
pointed to a small string of camels that were rapidly ap- 
proaching. The newcomers were four in number, and 
consisted apparently of three Arabs and a European. 
‘They are probably on their way to join the Mahdi. 
They would never be out here if they were seeking your 
countrymen, Englishman.’ 

In the meantime, the new arrivals had made their way 
up to the wells, and were busy quenching their own thirst, 
and watering their beasts. Jack’s attention was speedily 
attracted by the European, a slight dark man, with a de- 
cidedly Jewish cast of countenance. He evidently spoke 
Arabic fluently, for he conversed freely with his com- 
panions, as he did also with some of the Halawin Arabs. 
Hut Jack’s interest was thoroughly aroused when the 
Je wish-looking man’s wrath became aroused by a refrac- 
tory camel. He cursed it, to Jack’s amusement, in an 
infinite variety of languages, and, amongst others, English. 
Now if there is one thing dwells in the memory, it is apt 
to be the human voice; the voice will often recall a 
person to one’s recollection when the face has failed to 
do so. Jack Cuxwold had a misty idea of having seen 
the man’s face before, but when he heard him vociferatej 
‘ You damned pig-headed brute ! ’ it all flashed across him. 
The last time he had heard that voice, and seen that face, 
was in the gambling house at Cairo ! and equally well he 
remembered that the introducer of Flood and himself to 
that den had never been seen or heard of afterwards. 
Who had actually struck the fatal blow, neither he nor 
Flood had seen, but he did know that his Je wish-looking 
acquaintance had been one of those who closed around 
Bramton just before it was struck. 

Walking up to the man he remarked, — 


Front de Boeufs Little BilL 151 

‘ They are obstinate brutes, are they not ? ^ 

The Jew looked round at him quick as lightning, and 
ejaculated, — 

‘An Inglese in the tents of the Bagarras ! How have 
you come here?' 

‘ No matter, my friend. Pray, what is your name ? ' 

^ Peste! it is not usual to ask for the name in the 
desert. I have many. I travel what you call incog, 
often. Ben Israel will do as well as another just now. 
And you ; what you do here?' 

‘Where are you going? where are you bound for?' 
asked Jack, utterly ignoring the other's question. 

‘We are peaceful traders, carrying our goods where 
we may find the best market,' returned the other evasively. 

Chut ! Captain Cuxwold, what is the use of fencing?' 
continued Ben Israel; ‘you are a prisoner here.' 

‘True,' rejoined Jack, ‘and you are thescamp who led me 
to that den in Cairo where the murder was committed.' 

‘ Bygones are bygones,’ rejoined the other. ‘ I can do 
you a good turn now. You pay me well, of course.' 

‘What is -it ? ' inquired Cuxwold. 

‘I will let them know in Cairo where you are.’ 

‘When shall you be in Cairo?' asked Jack. 

‘How should I know?' demanded Ben Israel testily. 
‘ If we do good business, quick ; if not, quien sabe ? ' and 
he gave a thoroughly French shrug of his shoulders. 

The man was a Levantine Jew, and like many of his 
race, had he been at the building of the Tower of Babel 
would have been on colloquial terms with all the workmen, 
and have obtained possession of the main part of their 
weekly wages. One of that marvellous race that are 
selling oranges or acting as couriers to-day, and are im- 
pressarios of the opera, leading operators of finance, 
prominent turfites, or keepers of a gambling-house, on 
the morrow — a shrewd-brained, loose-principled race, 
with as many lives as cats, and a power of adapting them- 
selves to the making of money under any form. And Ben 
Israel, as he chose for the present to call himself, had 
tried his hand at many pursuits, and usually with more or 
less success. In short, he might have been a man of sub- 
§tance by this, had he not be^n an incorrigible gambler. 


152 Long Odds. 

He played, metaphorically, with cogged dice at one and 
all of his many vocations ; but in the Levant, in Cairo, 
Alexandria, etc., so do your neighbours, and when it came 
to sheer gambling, it was usually a case of which player 
concealed most aces up his sleeve. 

‘Think over what I say. Captain. But I know the 
Bagarras. You will pay dear before they will bring 
themselves to part with you. As for your friends w^ho 
have gone to Khartoum, they will no more return.’ 

‘ It was curious,’ Jack thought, ‘ the unanimous belief 
there was amongst these children of the desert that the 
British force was doomed to destruction ; he could not 
but believe that hard fighting there might be, but surely 
his old comrades would be equal to the occasion. 

‘ You overlook one thing, my friend,’ he said at length. 
‘ If Mohammed Sebekh intends my being ransomed, he 
must let me communicate with the people who have got 
to find the money.’ 

Fora minute or two the rapacious Jew was silent, and 
then he replied, — 

‘ It is as you will, Captain. The air of the desert is very 
healthful, but the life is a little, what you call, all the 
same — ah ! I have him, duW 

‘ That doesn’t bear much upon the point,’ returned 
Jack. ‘1 shall have to lead it until I am ransomed. 
1 don’t see any particular point in paying you to carry a 
message which the Sheikh must send for me himself,’ 
and so saying, Jack turned away, and rejoined Zelnh. 

‘ Chut r muttered the Jew to himself. ‘The Captain 
has a very pretty notion of making his sojourn here as 
endurable as possible. The Sheikh had better look to 
his daughter, or when that ransom comes, it will, per- 
chance, give liberty to two.’ 

‘ You know that man ? ’ said Zelnfe. 

‘ I met him once about tw^o years ago in Cairo. He is 
a thorough scoundrel, and, I should think, capable of 
anything.’ 

‘You are right,’ replied the girl. ‘He has visited us 
two or three times. He is an emissary of the Madhi’s. 
He has tried to persuade my father to take part against 
your people; but my father says the Mabdi is a lying 


Front de Booufs Little Bill. 1 53 

prophet j and though he too defies the authority of the 
Khedive, he will none of the Mahdi. He says the sons 
of the desert have ever been free, and that their only 
lawful suzerain in this world is the Caliph, as head of 
their religion/ 

‘ Does your father place trust in this Ben Israel, as he 
calls himself? ’ asked Jack. 

‘ Yes ; far more than I like,' replied Zftlnb, ‘ B6n 
Israel is a man who appears in the desert only in times 
of commotion, and it is odd how the sheikhs trust him, 
though they know he is here only to serve his own 
interests. Trust him not, Englishman ; he would betray 
man, woman, or child, if he could obtain a piastre by 
doing so.' 

‘ You must not call me Englishman,' said Jack. 

‘ What am I to call you then,' replied the girl, smiling. 

‘ I do not know your name, nor your rank. Are you a 
sheikh amongst your own people ? ' 

‘I am a soldier,' rejoined Jack, ‘and captain of a 
band of sixty or seventy horsemen.' 

‘Ah ! thenT shall call you Captain — that is your title. 
And now, Captain, what did that man say to you ? Stop, 
I will tell you partly what he did say to you. Whatever it 
was, you were to give him money for something or other.' 

‘Quite right, Zelnb,' replied Jack, laughing. ‘He 
offered to take a letter to my friends, to let them know 
where I was, if I would pay him for taking it' 

‘ Once again I say don't trust that man,' and with a 
warning gesture Zelnb glided rapidly away to her own 
tent 

In the course of the afternoon. Jack Cuxwold received 
a message from the Sheikh, to the effect that he wished 
to speak to him. Jack hastened to comply, and found 
Mohammed Sebekh in close conference with Ben Israel. 

‘ Englishman,' said the former, ‘ I have had much talk 
about you with my friend here, and he has told me of the 
rank you hold amongst your own people. This has enabled 
me to fix the number of piastres, I shall demand for your 
redemption. It is you who have disturbed the peace of 
the desert. My countrymen would long ago have settled 
with these dogs of Egyptians, had you not supported theip. 


1 54 Long Odds, 

If you did not make the war in the Soudan, it is your 
men and your gold which has prolonged it. It is fit that 
you should pay for disturbing the peace of the country.’ 

‘Front de Boeuf might have been brought up in an 
attorney’s office,’ thought Jack, as he listened to the 
Sheikh’s specious pleading. 

‘In the money of your own country, I demand five 
thousand pounds.’ 

‘Good Sheikh,’ returned Jack sententiously, ‘I don’t 
pretend that I want either to live or to die in the desert, 
but whether my friends can or will pay that amount of 
money, I can’t say.’ 

‘ If they don’t, Captain Cuxwold, then I think you will 
die in the desert.’ 

‘ Ah ! ’ chimed in Ben Israel, ‘ life is sweet ; what is 
five thousand pounds to a rich Englishman ? You destroy, 
deface, this beautiful country Sacr'e^ you must pay for 
him.’ 

‘ My friend,’ continued the Sheikh, ‘ is willing to take a 
letter for you to Cairo. As I have told you, Khartoum 
has fallen, and you English will never return to Korti. 
Write then and tell your friends in Cairo to make arrange- 
ments to send this money up to Khartoum.’ 

‘ I will not write by that messenger. Sheikh. I will not 
trust him.’ 

‘ You are foolish. Captain,’ replied the attacked, with the 
utmost indifference to the accusation against his good 
faith. ‘ Bah ! ’ he exclaimed, turning to the Sheikh, 
‘ the Captain got into a little disturbance, unfortunately, 
under my guidance, in Cairo. It was not my fault. It was 
one of his own countrymen caused the disturbance.’ 

‘ Who was first cheated, and then murdered there,’ ip 
terposed Jack sharply. 

‘ Hard words, hard words, Captain,’ said Ben Israel 
‘He lose his temper when he lose his money. There 
was a row, and somebody stabbed him.’ 

‘ When men quarrel they use steel,’ remarked the Sheikh 
sententiously. ‘I suppose you Englishmen^ whets you 
differ, don’t settle it with your tongues, like a pack of old 
women ?’ 

‘ I should have thought the l^st few weeks might have 


‘/ shall never forget You^ Zelne! 1 5 5 

taught your countrymen to tell a different tale. Ask 
those who met us at Abu Klea, or fought against us at 
Abu Kru, whether Englishmen were old women to fight 
against/ said Jack haughtily. 

The Sheikh’s eyes blazed with anger for a moment, 
and he bit his. moustache, while, as iov Ben Israel, he 
looked as amused as a mischievous monkey. 

‘You will do as you like,’ remarked Mohammed 
Sebekh at length ; ‘ but I warn you, it may be some time 
before you will have another opportunity of sending a 
letter.’ 

‘ I trust that man with no letter of mine,’ returned Jack 
curtly, and, saluting the chief, he turned and left the tent. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

V 

SHALL NEVER FORGET YOU, ZELNE.’ 

Jack Cuxwold abided stubbornly by his expressed re- 
solve. It surely could not be long before he had an 
opportunity of communicating with his friends ; besides, 
he had experience of the mysterious way in which news 
spread in the East, and was not without hope that in- 
telligence of his captivity would speedily reach Korti. 
Mohammed Sebekh seemed quite positive that Khar- 
toum had fallen, and yet when Jack left the banks of the 
Nile, none of them were aware of Gordon’s fate. Sir 
Charles Wilson had not even left Metammeh, when he 
came away. Still he mistrusted the Jew, and Zelnfe’s 
warning only confirmed him in this opinion. His impres- 
sion was that Ben Israel would seize upon any money 
that might pass through his hands, but would be utterly 
indifferent about procuring his release. During the 
short time of their halt, he noticed that worthy was upon 
extremely friendly terms with the Sheikh ; and from what 
he had gathered. Jack rapidly came to the conclusion that 
Front de Boeuf was a regular trimmer, and only await- 
ing events to take part with the winning side; equally 
ready to fall upon the flank of Wilson’s shattered column, 
if it met with disaster, or to join with the Mahdi in the 
plundering of Khartoum. 

‘Yes,’ said Jack to himself, ‘Front de Boeuf s aspect is 


t S6 Long Odds. 

warlike, and his manners stately ; but appearances are 
deceitful. His grandiloquent speech took me in at first 
I thought him a grand type of mediaeval chivalry, brave 
as his sword, and a man whose word was his bond, but 
I regret to say that I begin to think Zelnh’s father is a 
mendacious, double-faced cateran, quite of the old High- 
land type. I should fancy thieving, cattle* lifting, and 
black-mailing passing caravans, were his chief avocations.’ 

After a halt of a good twenty-four hours, Ben Israel 
and his friends proceeded on their journey. 

‘ You’re wrong. Captain,’ said the Jew, as he mounted 
his camel, ‘ not to take my offer. Be sure Khartoum has 
fallen, and there is no more business to be done in the 
Soudan. If your people get away, they will be lucky. I 
hope we shall meet again in Cairo.’ 

‘ You impudent scoundrel ! ’ replied Jack. But the Jew 
made no reply, except to smile and wave his hand, and 
again stretched forth in the desert with his companions. 

Meanwhile the Halawins continued to linger near the 
Wells of Bayuda. Jack Cuxwold, at the time, had no idea 
of what was the Sheikh’s motive for remaining ; but the 
fact was, Mohammed Sebekh was awaiting the turn of 
events. He knew perfectly well that his countrymen 
had been badly beaten at Abu Klea, and had failed to 
prevent the English from reaching the Nile. He felt sure 
that the English would go up to Khartoum before they 
left, to discover Gordon’s fate, and he thought that during 
that time the Mahdi would have rallied his forces, and, 
taking advantage of his great superiority in numbers, 
would yet again try conclusions with the English ; and on 
the result of that battle rested Mohammed Sebekh’s deci- 
sion. If, as he fully anticipated, it went against the 
English, then he and his powerful tribe were prepared to 
swoop down on the flank of the broken column, and take 
part in its annihilation. If, on the other hand, the English 
should be victorious, then the crafty Sheikh had made up 
his mind there would be no use in his mixing himself up 
in this imbroglio. These English, he knew, were a power- 
ful nation, with numbers of fighting men at their disposal, 
and in their hour of victory they might inflict bitter ven- 
geance on those who had warred against them, and exact 


^ I shall never forget You, Zelnil 157 

terrible atonement for the death of their great Chief who 
had fallen at Khartoum. 

But, as we know, Wilson had fought his way up to that 
city, and ascertained that Gordon was slain. Redvers 
Buller had arrived at Metammeh with instructions, now 
that Gordon^s fate was ascertained, to withdraw the column 
as speedily as might be ; and the Mahdi’s men had been 
too roughly handled lately, to as yet venture to interfere 
with the foe on his retreat. Contrary to all Mohammed 
Sebekh’s calculations, the news reached him that the 
English were retreating unpursued, and had actually once 
more reached the Wells of Jakdul. It was his own scouts 
who brought him this intelligence, for it may be remem- 
bered he was only a long day's ride from that place. As 
Jack had surmised, his fate by this time had, to some 
extent, become known. It was perfectly clear that he had 
left Metammeh with despatches, that he had never been 
seen at the Wells of Jakdul by the detachment there, 
and that he had never arrived at Korti \ that he had 
fallen into the hands of the Arabs was obvious, and 
already inquiries were being made about him, although 
with small hope of his ever being heard of alive again. 
The war had been conducted in such sanguinary fashion, 
the Arabs neither asking nor giving quarter, that il was 
scarce likely he had been spared, and for the present 
Jack Cuxwold figured in the returns under the ominous 
list of ‘ missing.' 

During these two or three weeks Jack became on ex- 
cellent terms both with his host and his host’s daughter. 
The Sheikh kept up all the stately air of a great noble, 
and a very mirror of chivalry, but the marauding side of 
his character constantly cropped up, and upon one occa^ 
sion he told Jack in confidence that he had been fool- 
ish in not placing a far higher price upon him. 

‘ I have paid you a very bad compliment, Effendi, in not 
naming a much higher sum for your ransom. You are not 
only a great chief amongst your warriors, but also you 
belong to one of your great English houses. Ben Israel 
told me all about you.' 

‘I. should like to twist that little miscreant's neck,' 
muttered J ack, between his teeth. ‘ You mistake. Sheikh,' 


158 Long Odds. 

he said aloud. ‘True, my father is a noble, but he is a 
poor man. As you know, it is not the best born always 
who are the wealthiest.^ 

‘ I have no doubt he has broad lands and large herds, 
said the Sheikh sententiously ; ‘ and he will willingly spare 
of his herds to have his son safe back with him. In a few 
days now, I will send a messenger to Korti, so have your 
letter ready.’ 

‘All right,’ replied Jack. ‘And now. Sheikh, I should 
like to ask you one question : — Where did you get your 
armour ? ’ 

‘It has been in my family for centuries, and passed down 
regularly from father to son. There is a tradition that my 
ancestors brought it with them from across the sea many 
hundred years ago, when they were at war with some of 
your western tribes, who all wore such protection in battle.’ 

‘ It is beautifully made,’ remarked Jack. 

The Sheikh glanced down at his shirt of mail in unmis- 
takable pride, and said, — 

‘ Yes ; it will turn either spear or sword ; and I have the 
horse furniture to match.’ 

‘ I suppose you set very high value on your horses ? ’ said 
Jack ; ‘ you Arabs are famous for them, you know. No 
doubt yours are of some celebrated breed ? ’ 

‘They are of the pure blood of the desert — the famous 
Nedgid race ; swift as the wind, and tireless as the wolf. 
You P^nglish have no such horses as we own.’ 

‘ Oh, come. Sheikh ; I like that,’ retorted Jack Cuxwold, 
who could not stand this inaputation on English horse- 
flesh. ‘ Why, an English thoroughbred would simply make 
the best you’ve got lie down, over either one mile or ten I ’ 

The Sheikh shook his head incredulously. 

‘ Bismillah ! ’ he exclaimed ; ‘you talk of what you know 
not. None of your English horses can match with the 
pure-born steeds of the desert.’ 

‘ Well, if I only had a good thoroughbred here, Sheikh, 
I’d ask nothing better than to make a match with you.’ 

‘Race with me ! It is a pity you cannot’ 

Ben Israel’s malicious story had spread amongst the 
Halawins, and the whole tribe, from the Sheikh downwards, 
believed that Jack was a great English noble. The Jew 


^ I shall never forget You, Zelne' 159 

had told Mohammed Sebekh that his captive was a man 
of great consequence, chiefly out of spite because Cuxwold 
had refused to employ him in the negotiation of his 
ransom. Though he had disappeared after the murder, 
he had not left Cairo, and had made many inquiries about 
the two Englishmen, and had ascertained that Jack was 
what is vaguely termed in the East an English lord ; and 
his rank and position he now purposely exaggerated, 
for the reason above stated. Of course Zeln^ speedily 
became aware of this rumour, and it raised Jack still higher 
in her esteem. The chiefs of the desert place a high 
value on their descent, and think much of purity of race, 
both in themselves and their horses. A woman will 
always take an interest in a man whose life she has saved, 
and none the less because he happened to be young and 
good looking. The whole tribe now treated Jack with 
much consideration, and looked upon it that his rank in his 
own country warranted his associating with the Sheikhas 
daughter, so Jack and Zelnh were left a good deal to their 
own devices. 

‘ Will my lord be very pleased when the time comes 
to return to his own people ? ’ 

* Naturally,’ replied Jack. ‘If you were among stran- 
gers, would you not also be glad to return to the tents 
of the Halawins ? ’ 

‘ My lord is anxious to once more gaze upon his wives ? ’ 
replied the girl. 

‘Not altogether,’ rejoined Jack; ‘considering I have 
none. Besides, Zelnb, we are not quite so liberal in these 
matters as you are. It is contrary to our custom and 
religion to have more than one wife.’ 

‘ It is so with us sometimes,’ replied the girl, after a 
pause, ‘ but our law allows more. Will you go back at 
once to your own country, or shall you still tarry in 
Egypt? You see you were unable to save your great 
chief at Khartoum, and you will never conquer us Arabs.’ 

‘ I am not sure, Zeln^, that we much want to ; but 
though we may leave the Soudan, I don’t think we shall 
leave Egypt for some time.’ 

‘ And will my lord ever come back to visit his friends 
in the desert?* 


l6o 


Long Odds. 

‘ It’s all very well, Zelnfe. I owe you niy life, and shall 
never forget it ; but your father is rather an expensive 
man to pay a visit to ! He don’t condescend to items, 
but he has put a pretty big price upon his hospitality.’ 

‘Ah,’ rejoined the girl, as a pained expression swept 
across her face, ‘ I wish it were not so. A short time 
back, and the stranger who sought our tents would have 
shared what we had ; and when he left us, we should have 
prayed Allah to speed him on his way. We had quarrels 
amongst ourselves, it is true, but it is you strangers who 
make all the mischief in our country.’ 

‘ How do you make that out?’ inquired Jack. 

‘You come into the Soudan, to which you had no right. 
The Egyptians pretend that , they have conquered it, and 
you send pashas to lead them ; and then you interfere 
with our customs.’ 

‘How so?’ asked Jack. 

‘ We have made slaves from time immemorial. It is 
our custom, — allowed by our religion. The negroes were 
born to be the slaves of the Arabs, and you say it shall 
not be so.’ 

Jack Cuxwold felt that it would be useless to argue the 
question of slavery with this proud Arab girl, who evi- 
dently believed that the negroes were a most inferior race, 
and that the kidnapping and selling of them was a lawful 
industry.. 

‘Yes,’ continued Zelnfe, ‘you hinder us from making 
money, and that makes our sheikhs rapacious. I would 
it were not so. Father was not greedy of money once.’ 

Zelnh no doubt believed that she was speaking the 
honest truth about Mohammed Sebekh ; but the facts of 
the case were, that in those days she had been too young 
to be cognisant of his doings, the Sheikh having been 
a levier of black mail from his youth up. 

‘When shall we leave here?’ observed Jack, with a 
view to changing the subject. 

‘ In a few days now, I think. Some of our men brought 
in word last night that you English were on your way 
back to Korti.’ 

‘ Then it seems,’ said Cuxwold, ‘ that they will get 
back after all.’ 


* I shall never forget You, Zelnel i6l 

‘ I don’t know,’ replied the girl. ‘ They are a long way 
from Korti yet. It is natural you should be glad your 
countrymen are safe. Shall you be very pleased to re- 
join them ? ’ and Zelnb gazed wistfully into his face, as 
she asked the question. 

‘Never mind talking about that, Zelnfe, dear,’ answered 
Jack, a little diplomatically, and thinking how fair a 
picture the girl made, in her silk-embroidered jacket, 
tunic-like skirt, and flowing trousers. ‘ I am not likely 
to leave you for some time.’ 

‘ It won’t be very long,’ said the girl, as she shook her 
head sadly. ‘ Father will be too anxious to get possession 
of your ransom, not to make an opportunity for you to 
communicate with your friends ere long.’ 

‘And suppose he does,’ replied Jack; ‘even if my 
friends are willing to pay that money for me, it will take 
them some time to collect it.’ 

The girl laughed merrily. 

‘ Do not mock your poor Zelnfe. Such a sum as that 
seems much to the poor Arab, but it is nothing to my 
lord, who owns many flocks and herds.’ 

‘You are wrong, Zelnfe,’ replied Jack. ‘I am not a 
rich man ; but,’ he said, drawing the girl nearer to him, 
‘ I shall be very sorry to leave my preserver, — to say 
good-bye to the sweet girl who has lightened my captivity. 
I shall never forget you, Zelnh ; and you will think of me 
sometimes, too, will you not ? ’ 

‘ I shall never forget my lord,’ said the girl, weeping, 
and the dark eyes gazed up into his, brimming with love 
and devotion. 

Of course he shouldn’t have done it. He was more than 
half in love with a girl in England. He was laying the 
seeds of a sore heart for one to whom he owed a debt 
he could never repay. He was likely to involve himself in 
a great scrape, and, perchance, pay for his folly with his 
life, and yet Jack did what I suppose nineteen men out 
of twenty would have done, — clasped the Arab maiden in 
his arms, and pressed his lips passionately to hers. 


L 


i 62 


Long Odds. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

REPORTED MISSING. 

The telegrams from the Soudan were watched with 
feverish interest at Knightshayes. Was not the younger 
scion of the house in the thick of the fray ? and after the 
fierce fighting round Suakim, in the previous year, no one 
doubted that the dash across the desert would be hotly 
contested. As is often the case, Jack Cuxwold was per- 
haps the best-loved son of his parents ; and with his sisters, 
he certainly took higher rank in their affections than his 
elder brother. Jack’s bright, good-tempered nature was 
more likely to ingratiate him with his fellows than the 
somewhat cynical disposition of Lord Dartree ; and with 
women. Jack was invariably a favourite. Besides all this, 
with the Countess he held the claim of being her younger 
son ; and, with the Earl, the invaluable recommendation 
of being not nearly so exacting in his demands for money 
as his brother. The news of Abu Klea was flashed 
across the wires with the sad tidings of how some of our 
best and bravest had met their doom. Then came the 
bloody struggle of Abu Kru, and the wires told how our 
men battled their way to the Nile. With anxious eyes and 
beating hearts the ladies at Knightshayes scanned the 
dreaded telegrams. No, hurrah ! Jack was all right so 
far ; his name was not among those terrible lists of killed 
and wounded. However, it wasn’t all over yet. The 
column had got to go to Khartoum, and how that was to 
be accomplished, was by the main portion of the British 
public not in the least understood. Then came the 
intelligence that Khartoum had fallen, and that the in- 
domitable Gordon was slain. Too late, too late ! and a 
wail went through the country when it knew that the 
hero to save whom so many lives had been dauntlessly 
laid down, had perished. 

With a feeling of relief, the nation learnt that Lord 
Wolseley had issued orders for the prompt return of the 
column to Korti, and with anxious eyes it looked for 
news that the backward march had been accomplished 
without further fighting. Gordon was dead ; let us have 


Reported Missing. 163 

no more waste of life and money, and, in Heaven’s name, 
let us wash our hands of the Soudan ! The electric wire 
reports the safe arrival of the column at Jakdul, — that 
there is no fear of further fighting, but ah ! there is a 
line at the bottom of the telegram, which blanches the 
Countess’s cheek, and makes her heart stand still. 

‘ We regret to say that Captain Cuxwold, who started 
with despatches from Metammeh, on the night of the 
twentieth, has not since been heard of.’ 

She had flown with the paper to her husband, and, 
pointing to the telegram, said, in a low voice, — 

‘What does it mean. Rank? Do you think he is 
killed?’ 

The Earl glanced at the paper for a moment, and 
then replied, — 

‘It looks very bad, but we must hope for the best. 
I shall run up to town by the next train, and see if I 
can learn anything more at the War Office.’ 

Of all the terrible records of the battlefield that those 
to whom he is dear have to read, none, perhaps, is more 
heart-sickening, and carries more desolation of woe with 
it, than the dread return of ‘ missing.’ If the loved one 
is amongst the killed, there’s nought to be done but 
weep o’er his memory. If he is amongst the wounded, a 
few weeks’ suspense, and it terminates in joy or sadness ; 
but missings alas ! so often proves that hope deferred that 
maketh the heart so sorely sick, — most sorrowful of all, 
perhaps, when, despite weary waiting, the missing man’s 
fate is never ascertained. 

Then the Countess in her misery sought Alec Flood, 
who was still staying at Knightshayes. He was constantly 
apologising for the positively unreasonable length of his 
visit; but not only was he an immense favourite with 
them all, and one, moreover, by no means easy to lay 
hands on, but I think that the Countess and her daughter 
had a tolerable inkling of what it was that induced the 
prolonged stay of this irreclaimable Bedouin. 

Flood at once announced his intention of accompany- 
ing the Earl to town. 

‘My dear Lady Ranksborow,’ he said, ‘Jack, you 
know, is the dearest friend I have, and I may be of use 


164 Long Odds. 

in this matter ; and, let the chance be- ever so slight, 
I would not for the world miss it. You see IVe 
wandered a good deal in the East, and have many ac- 
quaintances in those parts. I will telegraph to some of 
the traders I know on the Upper Nile. - 1 have no doubt 
I shall get news of Jack sooner or later; but remember, 
Countess, don’t be disheartened because we get no news 
for some weeks. Every week that passes, adds to the 
chance that he is alive, though a prisoner. I know the 
Arabs well. If he was not killed on first falling into their 
hands, the probability is his life will be spared ; and if 
he was, we shall soon hear of it. That sort of news flies 
fast in the desert. Rely upon it, I will never rest till his 
fate is cleared up, even if I have to go to the Soudan for 
the purpose.’ 

But the papers were read at Temple Rising as well as 
at Knightshayes, and there was another face which, al- 
though the owner uttered never a word, turned almost as 
pale as the Countess’s when she read that fatal telegram. 
No love words had ever been exchanged between Lucy 
and Jack Cuxwold, but he had made a very deep im- 
pression on her during the Cairo episode. 

Then she had followed his career in the Soudan with 
the deepest interest, and, girl-like, had magnified his deeds 
there, and pictured him to herself as a very paladin. She 
was always leading on Alec Flood to talk about his 
friend, and Alec had many a story to tell of Jack’s 
readiness in resource, and sang froid in difficulties, which 
served to fan the flame. Love may be described as a 
passion which invariably leads the opposite sexes to in- 
vest each other with attributes which they neither of 
them possess. And though Jack was a very good speci- 
men of the light-hearted dragoon, he would have been 
much amazed could he have known the pedestal upon 
which Lucy had placed him. Perhaps, could that young 
lady’s vision have extended to the tents of the Halawins, 
her views might have undergone considerable modifica- 
tion. The whole family at Temple Rising were aware 
that Captain Cuxwold was among the missing, and knew 
that this must be a source of terrible trouble to the 
Knightshayes people. 


Reported Missings 165 

That, with the exception of Lucy, the Bramtons could 
feel much grievous anxiety about Jack Cuxwold’s pro- 
bable fate, could hardly be expected. They sympathised 
in the sorrow of the Ranksborow family, as all kind-hearted 
people naturally would, and it was resolved, in a family 
council, that a note expressing that sympathy and their 
sincere hopes that intelligence of the missing man would 
shortly arrive, should be sent over to Knightshayes ; Miss 
Bramton, as usual, undertaking to write it, for that young 
lady had gradually constituted herself the sole arbiter of 
social tactics at Temple Rising. True, Lucy asserted 
herself occasionally, and then her sister knew better than 
to oppose her, for, under her somewhat quiet exterior, 
Lucy carried a very resolute will of her own, and upon 
this occasion the girl chose to supplement Miss Bram- 
ton’s highly-monogrammed epistle to the Countess, with 
a short note of her own addressed to Alec Flood. 

The groom speedily returned, with a line of thanks 
from Lady Jane Cuxwold, on her mothers behalf, and an 
intimation that the Earl and Mr Flood had gone to town 
to ascertain what information the authorities really were 
in possession of. Two or three days passed, the Earl had 
returned to Knightshayes, but it was known through the 
neighbourhood that he had brought back no consolation 
with him. Captain Cuxwold’s fate was still a mystery. 
Lucy had received no reply to her note, but was aware 
that Flood had not returned with the Earl. 

She was sitting alone in the drawing-room, one Feb- 
ruary afternoon, her mother and sister having driven in 
to Wroxeter for shopping purposes, when the butler threw 
open the door, and, a little to her surprise, announced 
‘ Mr Flood.’ 

‘ Why, when did you get back ? ’ she exclaimed, as she 
rose to greet him ; ‘ and do you bring good news with 
you ? ’ 

Alec shook his head as he replied, — 

‘ I only got back to Knightshayes last night, when I 
found your note, and I’m here to answer it in person. 
I lingered in London to push inquiries in every direction 
I could think of.’ 

‘ Is there no hope ? ’ she inquired anxiously. And 


i66 


Long Odds, 

had it not been for the fading light of the winter after- 
noon, the pallor of her cheeks must have attracted 
Flood’s attention. 

‘Ah, yes,’ he replied; ‘pray don’t think that. The 
authorities have told us all they know as yet ; but we need 
not altogether despair. That Jack left with despatches ; 
as the telegraph stated, is quite true, as it is also that he 
never arrived at Korti, nor has he ever been seen since ; 
but then, on the other hand, there is no rumour what- 
ever of a solitary British officer having been killed in the 
desert, and my own impression is that he is a prisoner in 
the hands of some roving band of Arabs.’ 

‘ Is his life safe, do you think ? ’ asked Lucy, somewhat 
eagerly. 

‘ Yes ; if my surmise is true, I should say so. You see 
they can make money by holding him to ransom, and 
that will prove a safeguard to him.’ 

‘ You’re a true friend to him, Mr Flood, and, I feel cer- 
tain, if he is a captive, will leave no stone unturned to 
obtain his release. Yes,’ she continued, interrupting him, 
as he was about to speak, ‘I know perfectly well that 
Lord Ranksborow will do all he can — one does not want 
to be long acquainted with the family, to see how very 
fond they all are of him — but the Earl does not under- 
stand the ways of the Arabs as you do. Humanly speak- 
ing, his trust is in you, and I think you would be true as 
steel to a comrade.’ 

‘ I hope so,’ said Flood, ‘ not that there is very much 
credit in that. If your “pals” don’t stand by you in a 
scrape, they’re not of much account. I’m glad, though, 
you think that of me. I wonder whether I can make 
you believe something more.’ 

‘ Oh ! ’. exclaimed the girl, with a rather forced hilarity, 
‘ don’t try my credulity too far.’ 

‘ It’s not much strain upon a girl’s belief, when a man 
speaks seriously to her upon one point’ 

‘No,’ she interposed hurriedly; ‘but there are things 
better left unsaid, — serious subjects better not touched 
upon.’ 

‘ I can’t help that, Lucy,’ he replied. ‘ I’m not an emo- 
tional man, but what I’ve got in my heart, I’m determined 


Reported Missing, 1 67 

to say, although I must own you have given me scant 
encouragement. Lucy, I love you. I don’t want an an- 
swer now, but do you think you can ever love me well 
enough to be my wife ? ’ 

‘ Oh, Mr Flood, how could you ? ’ cried the girl. ‘ I like 
you so much, and I tried so hard to prevent your speak- 
ing. Yes, an answer you must have, and at once. It 
cannot be. I shall regard you always, if you will permit 
me, as one of my best and dearest friends, but I cannot 
be your wife.’ 

‘ I am too late, I suppose,’ rejoined Flood sadly ; ‘ and 
yet I had thought that there was no one about here that 
you seemed to care about.’ 

‘Unfair, unfair,’ she cried. ‘You have no right to 
demand more than a frank and honest answer to your 
question. I esteem, and ever shall esteem, you highly : 
but it can never be, and I can only thank you for the 
compliment you have paid me.’ 

Flood rose to take his departure, and as he wished her 
good-bye, she put her hand frankly into his, and said, in 
low, earnest tones, — 

‘ Friends ever ; is it not so ? ’ 

‘Yes,’ he rejoined, as he pressed her hand; ‘if it may 
be no better. Good-bye, and God bless you.’ 

Flood pondered over his defeat as he rode slowly home. 

‘ It is the first time I ever coveted a woman’s love,’ he 
muttered. ‘ It’s the old story, I suppose. There are men 
born that ever hanker after the grapes beyond their 
reach, and that I am one of them ; and yet I thought my 
chance a fair one, till I began to speak. Well, it is best 
I did. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in having 
honestly loved a girl like that. If she sees fit to change 
her mind, a woman can always easily let you know she 
has done so ; but no, she is not that sort. She seemed 
to take a tremendous interest in poor Jack’s fate. I won- 
der — by heavens, I believe it is so ! Can it be that she has 
lost her heart to Jack Cuxwold? Now I remember, «:he 
never tires of talking about him. It’s possible that in 
that short time at Cairo something passed between them. 
They saw a good deal of each other ; but she has never 
mentioned having heard of him between then and meet 


1 68 Long Odds. 

ing me at Newmarket. Ah well/ continued Alec Flood, 
with a grim smile, ‘ if Jack was first in the field, that would 
account for my defeat. I was a dullard not to have seen 
it, when she tried to prevent my having it out with her. 
She’s straightforward and true, anyway. 'Time I cut all 
the Western so-called civilisation and went back to the 
glorious dreamy life of the East, where telegrams and 
even newspapers are nearly unknown; where you are 
seldom pestered with letters, and never with conventional 
visitors. Yes, that girl was right. What had a vagrant 
like me to do with respectability and matrimony ?'j Think 
I’ll go back to Egypt, and find out what has become of 
dear old Jack.' 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

‘what nonsense you talk!* 

The Bramtons were regarded with somewhat mixed feel- 
ings by the Knightshayes family. Had it not been for 
his turf policy, it is highly probable that neither the Earl 
nor Lady Ranksborow would have endured the irreclaim- 
able vulgarity of John Brain ton and his wife for a 
moment; but when you knew them, they were such 
thoroughly good-hearted, hospitable people, that one was 
apt to condone their solecisms. As for Lord Dartree 
and his sisters, the consigns had gone forth that they were 
to be civil to the Bramtons. The eldest son of the house 
quite admitted the expediency of doing as his father 
wished, but the Ladies Cuxwold were much exercised in 
their minds for the reason of taking up such people. 
They didn’t so much mind Mr and Mrs Bramton, and they 
really had got quite fond of Lucy, but they most decidedly 
disliked Matilda. They did not deny but that she was 
a pretty, ladylike girl enough, but they thought she was a 
very pretentious one. Miss Bramton decidedly gave her- 
self airs 1 Her parents were good-natured, honest vul- 
garians, but in her there was a certain amount of ingrained 
snobbishness, if I may be allowed the term with reference 
to a young lady. As for Lord Dartree, Miss Bramton 
amused him a good deal : his flirtation with her had 
progressed apace. Matilda Bramton was possessed of 


‘ What Nonsense You talk !* 169 

unbounded faith in her own attractions, and she coquetted 
boldly with both him and Sir Kenneth, and would have 
laughed to scorn anyone who had presumed to tell her 
that the choice of her two admirers was not at her own 
discretion. 

But though Miss Bramton had her own hands pretty 
full, she still had time to keep an eye upon what she was 
pleased to call her sister’s flirlations, and had more than 
once rallied Lucy about her tendresse for Mr Flood. When 
Lucy assured her that there was nothing in it, — that she 
and Alec Flood were good friends, and nothing more, 
Miss Bramton rejoined haughtily, ‘ I should hope so.’ 

‘Mr Flood, my dear, is, of course, all very well to 
amuse yourself with, but I should hope, when it comes to 
seriously settling in life, that you can do better for your- 
self than that’ 

Miss Bramton’s vanity utterly precluded the idea that 
any man could possibly presume to amuse himself at her 
expense, but she nevertheless held to her own opinion of 
Alec Food being in genuine earnest as regards her sister, 
and, as we know, she was right 

‘It’s a great nuisance,’ said Miss Bramton, on her 
return from her drive, ‘ this business of poor Captain 
Cuxwold.’ 

‘Well,’ replied Lucy hotly, ‘that is not the term ex- 
actly to apply to it. The poor fellow has given up his 
life, in all probability, as so many more of them have done 
out there.’ 

‘ Ah ! by the way, I forgot for the moment that you 
knew him, and that he was rather civil to you that time 
in Cairo. I’m sure I’m sorry enough for him, consider- 
ing I never set eyes on him. What I mean is this, that it 
will terribly break up our party at Wroxeter Race Ball. 
I heard this afternoon that the Ranksborows, unless they 
have good news, have determined not to be present.’ 

* I hadn’t thought of it before,’ rejoined Lucy ; ‘ but, of 
course, it’s not likely.’ 

‘ It’s a great bore 1 ’ exclaimed Matilda Bramton, as she 
threw herself into an arm-chair. ‘ It will take away half 
the fun of the thing. Knightshayes was to have been 
full for the occasion, and they were coming in quite a 


170 Long Odds, 

strong party to Wroxeter. Now Lord Dartree tells me it 
is all knocked on the head/ 

‘You saw him to-day then?^ said Lucy. 

‘Yes; he was in Wroxeter; and he also told me that 
if they had bad news about his brother, he should not 
even run his horse for the steeplechase. In fact, all the 
fun will be out of the thing. It is most unfortunate ! ’ 
Miss Bramton was not more selfish than her sisters 
generally, but when a death interferes with our amuse- 
ments — I am talking, remember, of the death of a person 
of whom we have no personal knowledge — I think we are 
apt to feel more sorry for our own disappointment, than 
for the affliction of the relations, even though they be 
friends of our own. 

‘ Well,’ replied Lucy, ‘we needn’t go ; and, if you don’t 
think it will be pleasant, perhaps we had better not. It 
would be a graceful mark of sympathy to the Ranksborow 
family.’ 

‘ What nonsense you talk ! ’ cried Miss Bramton pet- 
tishly. ‘ Of course we must go. It would never do for 
people of our position in the county to stay away upon 
such an occasion. Because the Ranksborows can’t go, 
it is just the more reason we must’ 

This was just one of the speeches which Miss Bram- 
ton was in the habit of making, and which filled the 
breasts of the Ladies Cuxwold with mixed amusement 
and indignation. Eldest daughter of a parvenu of little 
more than a year’s standing in the county. Miss Bramton 
was always vapouring about their county position. John 
Bramton posing as a sporting man. moved them to 
laughter, but his daughter claiming the position of the 
ruined Molyneuxs, jarred terribly on their feelings. 

For the next two or three days, telegrams came pretty 
thick to Knightshayes, for Alec Flood, and one morning 
at lunch-time he said calmly, — 

‘ I am off to London to-morrow, Lady Ranksborow, and 
to Cairo the next day. I’ve just received a most lengthy 
telegram from the Standard offlce. While in London, 
I got them to allow me to telegraph to their correspondent 
in the Soudan, to make all inquiries concerning poor Jack, 
and the return wire has just come to hand. It is so far 


‘ What Nonsense You talk / ’ 171 

satisfactory, that it confirms my hope that he is merely a 
prisoner. If that is so, his release is a question of money 
and arrangement. IVe had a long talk with the Earl, 
and all that can be done about that in this country, we 
have settled between us.’ 

‘ God bless you, Alec,’ said the Countess, as she pressed 
his hand. ‘ It is very good of you to go ; but I know 
to serve any of us, and more especially Jack, we can 
always rely upon you.’ 

‘I shall ride over to Temple Rising, and say good-bye 
to them there this afternoon ; and to-morrow I’ll bid you 
all good-bye ; and when I see you again, God grant I shall 
bring back the’ stray sheep with me.’ 

The women pressed round him, and made much of 
him during that meal. As Alec said, ‘ No man starting 
for a trip up the Mediterranean ever was made such a 
fuss with.’ They accompanied him to the hall door even, 
when he went to get on his hat, and the Countess whis- 
pered in his ear, ‘ May good fortune attend you.’ While 
Lady Emily murmured to her sister, — ‘ If Lucy Bramton 
is such a fool as to say him no, she never deserves to be 
asked by a good fellow again.’ 

You see they all thought they knew what it was that 
took Alec Flood to Temple Rising, and little dreamt Alec 
had put his fate to the test some days before, and sadly 
regarded Lucy’s decision as final. 

‘ I must be pretty far gone,’ he muttered, as he rode 
across the park, ‘ when all the women can see the state of 
the case. However, it’s no use ; if I have guessed aright, 
Lucy Bramton’s heart is no longer in her own keeping. 
Well, if I can rescue my old chum from the hands of the 
Arabs, she’ll owe me a debt of gratitude, and with that 
I must be perforce content. There’s nothing like having 
some hard>work before one to make one forget the dis- 
appointments of life, and it is possible I may have to 
wander about in the desert, after the manner of the chil- 
dren of Israel, before I clear up poor Jack’s fate.’ 

Upon his arrival at Temple Rising, Alec Flood was, of 
course, overwhelmed with questions on the subject of 
Captain Cuxwold. Had anything been heard of him? 
Was there any news whatever ? The family were dread 


172 Long Odds, 

fully cut up, of course. And then Miss Bramton could 
not help reverting to her old mournful cry, to wit, that it 
would be the ruin of the Wroxeter Ball, though the slightly 
contemptuous expression that swept for a moment across 
Flood’s face, warned her not to continue in that strain. 
Then Flood briefly acquainted them that he had come 
to say good-bye, and that he was off to Cairo the next 
morning, with a view to discovering what had become of 
Jack Cuxwold. His adieux w’ere soon made, though he 
detained Lucy’s hand in his perhaps a little longer than* 
was necessary. ‘ Remember, friends ever,’ she said, in a 
low tone, and Alec bowed his head in silent assent. 

A fortnight later, and he was once more standing in the 
verandah of Shepheard’s Hotel, and wondering how best 
to prosecute his search. He had, of course, been, within 
a few hours of his arrival, to the military authorities, who 
regretted deeply that no intelligence of any kind had 
been received regarding Captain Cuxwold. Suddenly 
he became conscious that he was being watched by a 
little, slight, wiry man, whose piercing black eyes seemed 
riveted upon him. Flood returned the stare with 
interest, and in another minute or two recollection 
dawned upon him. ‘ The villainous gambling-house tout,’ 
he muttered, ‘ who lured us off to his den, the night Dick 
Bramton was killed.’ 

In an instant he had strode across to the pillar against 
which the man w^as leaning, and said, — 

‘ So, sir, we meet again. I have never set eyes on you 
since the night — ’ 

‘ Hush ! ’ interrupted the other deprecatingly. ‘ It was 
not my fault. I could not help the row. The English- 
man, he lose his money, he lose his temper. He call the 
other players liars, cheats. Ah ! what wonder blows were 
struck ; and in these parts men use the knife. I had 
to hide, or they would have put me in prison.’ 

‘ And a deuced good thing too,’ rejoined Flood. ‘ You 
would have been where I’ve not the slightest doubt you 
deserved to be, and have often been before.’ 

‘No, it was not me. I declare it was not me who 
struck the Englishman ; but, bah ! this is not business. I 
have something to tell you.’ 


* What Nonsense You talk N 173 

‘ And think, perhaps, that I am going to be fool enough 
to accompany you into some confounded den or other to 
look at it.’ 

‘ No, Mr Flood.’ 

‘ Ah ! you know my name ; how is that ? ’ 

‘I was dragoman to Sir John Kenyon, when you 
travelled up the Nile with him three or four years ago.’ 

‘ I thought I recollected your face last March ! ’ ex- 
claimed Flood ; and then he remembered that Kenyon 
had a dragoman of very doubtful honesty in his employ. 

‘ What would you give,’ asked Ben Israel, ‘ to know 
where the Captain who was with you that time, is now ? 
You pay well for that, eh ? ’ 

‘ Do you mean to say that you know where Captain 
Cuxwold is ? ’ exclaimed Flood. 

Ben Israel nodded. 

‘ You pay me well, I tell you. What you give ? ’ 

‘I will give you a ten-pound note now, and one hun- 
dred more, should your information prove true.’ 

‘Ah! it is too little. His friends would surely give 
more than that to know what is come of him.’ 

‘That is quite enough to pay you,’ replied Flood, 
‘simply to learn the details of his murder.’ 

‘ Ah ! but he is not dead ; he is alive. What you pay 
to know where he is now ? ’ 

‘ I will give you ten pounds, and two hundred if your 
information prove correct.* 

‘ It is too little,’ replied Ben Israel, shaking his head. 
‘He is alive ; I saw him three weeks ago.’ 

‘ I’ll give you no more,’ rejoined Flood. ‘ If he really 
is alive, I shall speedily get information from some other 
source. In the meantime, you had best remember the 
kurbash is not altogether abolished.’ 

Ben Israel, though he had a very great regard for his 
own hide, was not much influenced by this threat. He 
knew that the English now ruled in Cairo, and that the 
use of the kurbash was much restricted. But what did 
bear upon his mind was Flood’s suggestion that he might 
get his information from other sources. His cupidity 
was struggling with the too probable realisation of that 
coming to pass. He knew Mahommed Sebekh far too 


174 Long Odds, 

well to suppose that he would not endeavour ‘ to realise 
his prisoner’ as soon as possible. If he did not snatch 
at this opportunity, he would very possibly obtain no- 
thing, and the man had been consistent through life in 
endeavouring to fill his own pockets at the expense of 
his neighbours. 

‘ Well, sir,’ said the ex-dragoman, ‘ it’s very little for 
such news as I bring you ; but I must take it,’ and the 
man held out his hand. 

Flood took a note-case from the breast-pocket of his 
coat, and, producing an English ten pound note, put it 
into Ben Israel’s hand, saying, as he did so, — 

‘There; the two hundred pounds shall be paid you 
here, personally, or at any address you may name, as 
soon as I have ascertained that your information is 
correct.’ 

‘ Good ! ’ replied the other. ‘ That is the address to 
which please pay the money. The Captain is in the 
hands of the Halawin tribe of the Bagarra Arabs.’ 

‘What is the name of their sheikh? and where shall 
I find them ? ’ 

‘ Mohammed Sebekh. And they will most likely be 
now somewhere between Korti and Berber.’ 

‘ And his life, I presume, is quite safe in their hands ? ’ 

‘ Chut I ’ rejoined Ben Israel, with a rapid gesture of 
his hands. ‘ Mohammed looks to selling him his liberty. 
He loves money.’ 

‘Ah! I understand,’ said Flood; ‘he holds Cuxwold 
up for ransom.’ 

‘Yes I Cunning old fox, Mohammed I He will w^ant a 
deal of money for the Captain.’ 

‘That’s a matter that doesn’t concern you,’ said Flood 
sharply. ‘If your infoimation prove correct, you will 
have the remainder of your money ; ’ and then, with a short 
nod of dismissal, he turned on his heel and walked into 
the hotel. 

‘Two things to be settled at once,’ thought Flood 
‘ First, to telegraph to Knightshayes that Jack is all safe, 
though a prisoner ; and, secondly, whether I had bettei 
make my way to Suakim or Korti.’ 


Mr Noel lays Long Odds. 


175 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

MR NOEL LAYS LONG ODDS. 

It is close upon the verge of the racing season. Already 
the acceptances are out for the Lincolnshire Handicap and 
the Grand National, and speculation on both events is 
spirited and heavy. The Derby, too, comes in for a fair 
share of attention at intervals. Notably is there a strong 
disposition to lay against the favourite ; and yet those con- 
nected with him declare that Damocles has wintered well. 
Mr James Noel is still a persistent opponent of that noble 
animal ; indeed his brethren of the ring vow he must 
be in possession of some exclusive information, to bet 
against him in the way he does. The Earl of Ranks- 
borow, albeit well used to battling with the book- 
makers, and well known as an impassive loser, begins 
CO wear a harassed expression. The Earl not only had 
never stood to win so large a stake as he did over this 
Derby, but the landing of it had never before been of so 
dire a necessity. In good truth, the Earl was most 
desperately pressed for money, and, as he brooded over 
the state of his affairs in his own den, began to think he 
should share the fate of his friend Molyneux, and that the 
broad lands of Knightshayes would come to the hammer. 
He had received Flood’s telegram, which had spread 
great joy through the house of Ranksborow ; but Lord 
Ranksborow grimly reflected that Jack was held to ransom. 
Flood, before leaving, had warned him that that would pro- 
bably be the case, and, further, that the sum named would 
be probably very considerable; what^ of course, the Earl 
did not know, but he did know that it was most difficult 
to find money to carry on with, and that this supple- 
mentary sum would be something like the proverbial 
last straw. True, Flood, who was perfectly aware of his 
host’s embarrassments, had offered, in the most delicate 
way, to assist in making up whatever might be required ; 
but of course Alec Flood would have to be repaid, and 
how that was to be managed he couldn’t for the life of 
him see. If this coup would only come off, then he should 
pull through; but he mused sadly, — ‘What man ever 


176 Long Odds. 

threw in who called “a main,” with his back meta- 
phorically to the wall ? ’ And now Damocles, just as specu- 
lation had begun again, was travelling very badly in the 
market. He had written to Stubber, and received a reply 
that there was nothing whatever wrong with the colt. He 
had written to Mr Skinner, and that gentleman had written 
word that he could not account for the hostility dis- 
played towards the favourite, unless it was the introduction 
of Lucifer into the betting, and a prevalent idea that Damo- 
cles was liable to change hands at any moment. Then, 
again, the Earl wondered what this backing of Lucifer 
might portend. Stubber had never said anything to him 
about that colt. Could it be that he had any pretensions 
to be a race-horse of the first class ? True, he had won 
that race at Newmarket in the autumn in a canter ; but 
then his antagonists had been of very moderate calibre ! 
Pooh ! it was all nonsense. It was not likely that they had 
another colt in the stable pretty near as good as Damo- 
cles ! But if Lord Ranksborow was puzzled at the back- 
ing of Lucifer, the trainer was infinitely more perplexed. 
Stubber, with the exception of Mr Skinner, had confided to 
no one the secret of what a good colt this was. He had 
taken especial pains, when he tried him, to prevent the 
result of that trial leaking out. Now he and that worthy 
had arranged that the way to make most money out of 
these two colts, was to reserve Lucifer for the St Leger. 
Mr Stubber quite intended to thoroughly do his duty by 
his employer, but as Mr Bramton did not bet, he argued 
that, as long as he won both the Derby and Leger, it could 
not matter to him with which horses he won them ; and, 
as the commissioner had pointed out, that arrangement 
would be most conducive to their joint interests. The 
trainer was kept in a state of perpetual fidget by his em- 
ployer. As he confided to sympathetic friends, — 

‘ There’s no knowing where to have this Mr Bramton. 
When you trains for a gentleman as owns he knows 
nothing about it, why, of course, the best thing he can 
do, and the thing he ought to do, is to leave it all to the 
trainer. But this Mr Bramton, he’s taking to shoving his 
oar in ! I never get up in the morning without feeling 
that maybe the ’osses will have left my stable before night. 


Mr Noel lays Long Odds. 177 

He’s always talking of selling them, and though in his 
last letter he said he had made up his mind to keep 
Damocles, it’s my belief he don’t know his own mind three 
days together. Well, there’s one comfort, whoever is back- 
ing Lucifer, will burn his fingers, if things are left to me.’ 

Could either Lord Ranksborow or Mr Stubber have 
been present at an interview that took place in one of the 
numerous lodgings at Newmarket, towards the close of 
the Houghton week, things would have been all perfectly 
plain to them. Sim Napper had come up there, in obedi- 
ence to a message from his uncle, Mr James Noel, who, 
as he expressed it, ‘ wished to have a talk with him.’ 

‘ Now, Sim,’ said the bookmaker, ‘ I look upon you as 
my agent here, and I’m bound to say you keep me pretty 
well posted. What news you send is reliable, and not 
merely hearsay ! Now I’ve no doubt that Damocles is the 
best of his year, and that he will win at Epsom next May, 
if all goes well with him. Now, that would never suit my 
book, as things stand at present. I’ll pay for it, but re- 
member I must have very accurate information of all that 
goes on in Stubber’s stable ! ’ 

‘I’ll do my best. Uncle James; but remember, he 
added meaningly, ‘I can’t prevent Damocles winning the 
Derby.’ 

‘No,’ replied the bookmaker ; ‘ I’m not likely to ask you 
to do that. Anything of that sort is very awkward to be 
mixed up in ! But, if I’m not very much mistaken, they’ve 
got another pretty good colt in that stable, in Lucifer. 
I don’t for an instant suppose he is as good as the crack, 
but he’s good enough to serve my turn. What I mean is 
this ; sometime during the winter, these two horses must 
change places in the betting market. If anything happened 
to Damocles, that confined him to his box for a few days, 
it would go a good way to assist my plans 1 ’ and here Mr 
James Noel looked excessively hard at his nephew. 

‘ Luck stands to us at times, in these things,’ he continued. 
‘A careless stable-boy leaves a window open at night, 
and horses catch cold.’ 

‘ Well ! ’ rejoined Mr Napper, ‘ I can only hope luck will 
befriend you. I can promise you one thing. I’ll* do my 
best to keep you accurately informed of the doings of 

M 


1/8 Long Odds. 

Slabber’s horses ; by which I presume you mean Damocles 
and Lucifer.’ 

Mr Noel nodded. 

‘ It will cost you some money, but not so very much. 
If I can, I’ll get hold of the boy who looks after one or 
other of them.’ 

‘All right ! ’ said Mr Noel. ‘ I can trust all that and 
other arrangements to you. I don’t wish the horse any 
harm ; and it would be like my luck, they are all so’ beastly 
healthy when I bet against them. Why^ IHl lay you five 
hundred pounds to ten that Damodes hasn't even a tempor- 
ary ailment between this and next May I 

‘Well !’ said Mr Napper, laughing, ‘you can put that 
down. It’s never fifty to one against anything or anybody 
catching cold during a winter and spring at Newmarket.’ 

‘Now there’s nothing,’ said Mr Noel, ‘like turning a 
thing like this over from every point of view. If I want 
Damocles to go back in the betting, — to be what we call 
pretty near “ knocked out,” it might also suit me to pull 
the strings the other way later on, and put pressure upon 
Mr Bramton to ensure his starting. Now you lawyer 
chaps are ’cute. Can that will business we know of be 
brought to bear in any way ? ’ 

‘ Wait a bit till I think it out,’ rejoined Mr Napper, 
and for some minutes there was a dead silence between 
them. At last Sim Napper opened his lips and said, — ‘ It’s 
not very much of a chance, and, remember, it’s a mere 
matter of bounce. There’s a young fellow here who 
claims to be a legitimate son of Richard Bramton. Son 
he may be, but I fancy he can’t prove his mother’s 
marriage. Well, you could certainly let Bramton know, 
before the race, that his not running Damocles would be 
regarded as a violation of the conditions of the will, and 
that this young fellow, as heir-at-law, would then dispute 
it. You are giving him a friendly tip, mind. I could 
arrange everything with Tom Robbins easy enough ; but 
it all depends upon what sort of chap this Bramton is. 
If he’s a nervous, timid sort, when he found you knew all 
about the wilt, he’d sooner run the horse than chance a 
lawsuit. If, on the other hand, he is a cool, business-like 
fellow, he’ll tell you to go to the devil, and that he shall 


Mr Noel lays Long Odds. 1 79 

do as he pleases. Legally, I don’t think you’ve a leg to 
stand on, even if Tom Robbins could prove his mother’s 
marriage. It all depends on what sort of a man Bramton is.’ 

‘I haven’t an idea,’ replied Mr Noel. ‘All I ever 
heard about him was that he knew nothing of racing ; 
but Stubber, or whoever manages for him, hasn’t much 
to learn.’ 

‘ Perhaps you could find out,’ said Mr Napper. ‘ It all 
depends upon that. As I said before, my idea is a mere 
game of bounce.’ 

‘ Quite so, my boy,’ rejoined Mr Noel quietly; ‘and I 
landed the biggest stake I ever won by bounce. It was 
in this way. I had backed a horse for the Chester Cup 
to win me a raker, and, about a week before the race, 
found the owner and his friends hadn’t a piece on. The 
horse was “ put up ” at Tattersall’s, that is “ what will any- 
one take about him for the race ?” There was not a bii 
The owner was present, and I suddenly thundered out, — 
“ Ten monkeys to one he don’t start.” The owner shot 
me at once, and I had the best race I ever had ; but if 
it hadn’t been for that bit of bounce on my part, the 
horse would never have seen Chester.’ 

‘I suppose you stand to lose a lot of money over 
Damocles ? ’ said Mr Napper. 

‘ Not near so much as you might suppose. It’s true I 
laid twenty thousand to three hundred against him as a 
yearling, but then I laid the same against a great many 
more. I haven’t got round, but I shouldn’t be hit very 
heavily. No ; if Damocles was stopped in his work for a 
few days — if we can get up a bit of a scare, so as to drive 
him to an outside price in the market, then I should 
back him, and it would very likely suit me better that he 
should win than lose.’ 

‘ I understand,’ said Mr Napper ; ‘ and I tell you. Uncle 
James, he will win if he keeps well. I will keep a sharp 
look-out on Lucifer; but, though no doubt he’s a nice 
colt, depend upon it he’s not so good as the favourite.’ 

‘ Perhaps not ; still he might prove a good second string, 
if anything happened to the favourite ; and, as you say, 
Newmarket is a terribly catch-cold place,’ and here Mr 
Noel winked pleasantly at his precious nephew. 


i8o 


Long Odds. 

The conflicting interests that surround the favourite for 
a big race are always somewhat difficult to reconcile, and 
yet it did seem at present as if it might be fairly to the 
interest of everyone concerned that Damocles should win 
the Derby. Mr Bramton, his nominal owner, desires the 
colt to win, on account of the social importance that will 
accrue to him, John Bramton. Lucy, his real owner, 
wishes him to win, for the honour and glory of the thing, 
and also because she knows it was the dying desire of 
her dead uncle. Lord Ranksborow hopes for Damocles’ 
success, as offering the one possible hope of extrication 
from the quagmire of financial difficulties in which he is 
floundering. Stubber, the trainer, is looking forward to 
both fame in his calling and profit from the victory. 
Even Mr Noel could be content to see the colt trium- 
phant, if only he could be driven to a long price in the 
betting market for two or three weeks ; but that ^ when 
you interfere with the natural course of events, and take 
steps to bring it about, may be fraught with circumstances 
beyond human control. 

Mr Skinner, still brooding over that to him puzzling 
problem as to whose prompting it was that Mr Bramton 
owed the inspiration of keeping Lucifer, watches the 
turf market like a cat, and takes speedy cognisance of Mr 
Noel’s operations therein. Thoroughly initiated in all the 
mysteries of bulling and bearing on the great turf exchange 
of Tattersall’s, and being further in the confidence of Mr 
Stubber, the well-known commissioner is somewhat 
staggered at the determined hostility shown to Damocles 
by Mr Noel and the little clique of bookmakers of whom 
he is the guiding spirit. He knows the colt is well, and, 
as all the racing world knows, on his two-year-old form 
ought to be hailed winner of the Blue Ribbon. He 
knows Mr Noel and his following already stand to lose 
heavily by his success. What can they be going on ? On 
what ground do they still steadfastly oppose Damocles 
for the Derby ? ‘ Everything comes to him who knows 

how to wait,’ is a maxim especially applicable to the 
unravelling of turf mysteries, and a past master of those 
mysteries like Mr Skinner felt little doubt that the cause 
of this persistent ‘bearing’ of the favourite would be 


Lord Dartreds Mistake. 1 8 1 

« 

made manifest to him before long. It was not that he 
stood to win any large stake over the race on his own 
account at present, but he knew what it meant to the 
Earl of Ranksborow, and for past favours he was anxious 
to pull his first patron through, if possible. Add to 
which, he saw his way into making a very good thing out 
of the Epsom race and the St Leger. 

Mr Skinner, therefore, at present is keeping a vigilant 
eye upon Mr Noel, whom, by the way, he cordially 
dislikes, and his proceedings. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

LORD DARTREE’s MISTAKE. 

The B ram tons were all unfeignedly glad when Lord 
Dartree brought the news of his brother’s safety to 
Temple Rising. Lucy thanked Heaven that a life which 
had grown strangely dear to her had been, so far, merci- 
fully spared, while as for Matilda, she was thankful that 
it was so, because she thought that now the Ranksborows 
might be regarded as sure to attend the Wroxeter ball, 
and Miss Bramton had made up her mind that was to 
eventuate in a great social triumph on her part. She 
pictured herself the belle of socially the crack party in the 
room. She had had a ‘ball dress made expressly for the 
occasion, which, as she said, ‘ was a very dream of loveli- 
ness ’ She knew that in the matter of good looks she 
outshone the Ladies Cuxwold, and though there were 
people who regarded Lucy as the prettier of the two 
sisters, they were in a minority, and with that minority 
Matilda Bramton by no means agreed. Mr Bramton 
was glad that his neighbour had been spared a severe 
domestic affliction, but his relations with Lord Ranks- 
borow had been a little strained at their last interview, 
and Mr Bramton had never forgotten that, in his own 
vernacular, the Earl had tried to ‘ best ’ him about the 
purchase of Damocles. 

‘Well, Lord Dartree,’ exclaimed Miss Matilda, when 
she was made acquainted with Captain Cuxwold’s com- 
parative safety, ‘ now you have such much better accounts 
from the Soudan, of course we shall see you and your 


1 82 Long Odds. 

party at the Wroxeter ball. Your brother’s exchange as a 
prisoner is, I presume, a mere matter of a few weeks or so.’ 

‘ Sorry to say it’s not quite such plain sailing as you 
think, Miss Bramton. You see, these Arabs are not exactly 
civilised enemies. They don’t often make prisoners, and, 
when they do, they don’t part with them except for a 
stiffish ransom.’ 

‘ Mere brigands,’ said Lucy, in low, earnest tones, ‘ and, 
like the Greek or Italian bandits, capable of proceeding 
to extremities if their rapacity is not speedily gratified. Oh, 
it’s too horrible! Remember the massacre of Marathon.’* 

‘ For Heaven’s sake. Miss Lucy, don’t suggest such a 
thing — at all events, don’t put such a parallel into the 
head of my mother or sisters. The business is bad 
enough, goodness knows, but Alec Flood seems to think 
Jack is in no danger, although he makes no disguise 
about his release costing us dear.’ 

‘ I don’t want to be a prophetess of ill-omen,’ rejoined 
Lucy, ‘ but recollect there’s always terrible danger to the 
captives in those cases. The wretches in whose hands 
they are, wax impatient if their cupidity is not promptly 
satisfied, or get suspicious of being surrounded and made 
to pay the penalty of their brigandage.’ 

‘Quite so,’ replied Lord Dartree; ‘but this is not 
exactly a case in point. We are at war with the Arabs 
of the Soudan. They are not given to the making of 
prisoners, but, when they do, to hold them to ransom has 
been their custom from time immemorial. Alec told us 
all this before he started — ’ 

‘Just so,’ interrupted Miss Bramton; ‘and I have no 
doubt we shall hear of Captain Cuxwold’s release before a 
month is over ! Lucy always takes the darkest possible 
view of everything. So, Lord Dartree, unless you have 
bad news between this and then, you must promise me 
to come to the ball.’ 

‘ If you wish it,’ rejoined Dartree, with an admiring 
glance at the girl’s handsome face, ‘why, it becomes a 
command.’ 

‘ Of course I wish it,’ answered Miss Bramton promptly, 
with a coquettish flash of her somewhat bold black eyes. 

‘ And you will promise me plenty of dances ? ’ 


Lord Dartreds Mistake. 

‘You shall write your name down on my programme 
for anything in reason/ rejoined Miss Bramton, as she 
flashed another look at him. 

‘ No man could resist such temptation ! ' cried Lord 
Dartree gaily ; ‘ and, providing there’s no bad news of 
Jack, it’s a match.’ 

‘What! without my consent?’ exclaimed John Bramton, 
who at that moment entered the room. ‘ Pooh, my lord, 
you must have bless you my children, and all that sort of 
thing. But I suppose you and Matilda have got to some 
of your sporting nonsense ; but I say, gals, lunch should 
be about ready, and his lordship no doubt will come in 
and. peck a bit. Just ring, Lucy, will you ? ’ 

‘ Papa is simply incorrigible,’ murmured Miss Bramton 
to herself. 

‘ What an irreclaimable vulgarian,’ thought Dartree, as 
he rejoined, — ‘ Very good of you, Mr Bramton. I shall 
be only too delighted to — to peck a bit’ 

Lucy’s eyes flashed, and Matilda’s cheeks flushed 
scarlet. Neither of them were blind to the covert sneer 
contained in Lord Dartree’s acceptance of their father’s 
invitation. It was rarely that nobleman indulged in his 
naturally sarcastic nature, at the expense of John Bramton. 
He was quite aware that it was much to the interest of 
himself as well as his father, to' keep on terms of intimacy 
with the Temple Rising people, and he was too shrewd 
a man of the world not to see that the young ladies were 
very sensitive about the solecisms of their father, and dis- 
posed — especially Lucy — to resent any ridicule vehe- 
mently ; but nature is difficult to control, and Lord Dar- 
tree, though he did his best, was unable always to control 
his sarcastic tongue. He had never quite got on with 
Lucy, although the interest she took in his brother had 
prepared her to like him ; but Lucy never couldget over 
a vague feeling that he was laughing at them, and we 
none of us like people who produce that impression. 
His open admiration for Matilda so gratified the girl’s 
vanity, that, quick-witted as she was, she had not 
formed that idea of him ; but she was no more blind than 
her sister, when Lord Dartree allowed his mocking 
tongue to get the better of him. 


184 Long Odds. 

‘ Well, Mr Bramton, you must be almost sick of being 
asked the question, but how is Damocles ? ’ asked Lord 
Dartree, when they had got into the dining-room. 

‘ Oh, he’s first-rate. By the way, I wish you’d tell your 
noble father I’ve thought over what he said, and have 
determined to keep the horse.’ 

‘ Ah ! he will be very glad to hear that,’ said Lord 
Dartree, ‘as he has an interest in Damocles winning. 
He mentioned that a very shady lot were trying to buy 
him from you.’ 

‘ When do you expect to hear again from Mr Flood ? ’ 
inquired Lucy. 

‘ Difficult to say. Of course, by post we can’t hear for 
some time, but Alec will telegraph as soon as he has 
anything to communicate. It was great news he sent us, 
but he has got to get up into the Soudan before he can 
put himself into communication with these Halawin Arabs, 
in whose hands Jack is. It ought not to be difficult then, 
because I take it these fellows are as anxious to get our 
money into their hands, as we are to get poor Jack out 
of theirs.’ 

‘Just so ! just so ! ’ said Mr Bramton ; ‘that’s a maxim 
as governs all trade. People who want to buy, and 
people who want to sell, are sure to come together and 
do business ; it’s only a question of terms.’ 

‘ Hardly ! ’ exclaimed Lucy. ‘ I’m sure Lord Dartree 
will echo my words, when I say there can be no making 
terms about Captain Cuxwold’s life.’ 

‘ Quite right. Miss Lucy. We must pay whatever they 
choose to ask us ; and come by the money how best we 
can.’ 

‘As far as we can judge by the papers, everything will 
be speedily over out there,’ observed Miss Bramton. ‘ The 
expedition has failed, and I suppose there is nothing left 
for us to do but to come away again. Why, we may have 
Captain Cuxwold home in time for the Wroxeter ball 
after all.’ 

‘ I’m afraid you are a little too sanguine,’ rejoined Lord 
Dartree, smiling, ‘ but I do hope that we may hear every- 
thing has been arranged for his release before that. And 
now, Mr Bramton, I must be off. You, in common with 


Lord Dartreds Mistake. 


i8s 

most of our neighbours, have sympathised with us so 
kindly in our trouble, that I thought I would ride over 
myself, and let you know of our good news.’ 

‘Very good of you indeed,’ chorussed the whole party. 
‘ I’m sure we were most anxious to hear ; ’ to which Lucy, 
as she said ‘good-bye,’ added, ‘And'the next time you hear 
from Mr Flood, you will let us know at once, won’t you ?’ 

Lord Dartree, of course, promised to comply with her 
request, and as he rode down the drive thought to him- 
self, — ‘ I wonder if there is anything between that girl 
and Alec Flood ! I’m blest if I don’t think that she’s 
engaged to him.’ 

It may seem odd that Lord Dartree did not accom- 
pany Flood on his mission in search of Jack Cuxwold, 
and it was no want of brotherly affection that caused him 
to abstain from doing so ; but Lord Dartree was a Guards- 
man, although he has figured but little in his military 
capacity in these pages, and the War Office had been 
rather overdone of late in the matter of applications for 
service in, or leave to go to, the Soudan. The feeling was 
strong amongst the officers in the army to be employed in 
the expedition for the rescue of Gordon, and, failing that, 
to be allowed to go out as a volunteer. The military 
authorities are bound to check such enthusiasm, and to 
consider that as soon as they have what they consider the 
requisite number of men and officers for the work to be 
done, the surplus simply represent an unemployed con- 
tingent, that require transport and feeding. That Lord 
Dartree would have obtained leave to go to Egypt in 
search of his brother, there was little doubt, but it would 
have involved some little delay, and, as Alec Plood 
pointed out, that was not to be thought of. 

‘No official, no general, likes to make himself respon- 
sible for a large sum of money in these.democratic days, 
and that is what we shall have to do, if Jack’s a prisoner. 
No, Dart, you’d be no good to me in the East, and, be- 
lieve me, I’d best be off at once. You can, very likely, 
be of use here, and you can’t there. If Jack’s alive, you 
can trust me to do all man can for him.’ 

So it was settled that Flood should go alone to the 
East, with what results we have already seen. 


1 86 Long Odds. 

Lord Ranksborovv was highly elated when his son gave 
him Mr Bramton’s message. 

‘ By Jove, Dart, upon my soul, I think it will come off ! ^ 
he exclaimed, after dinner, as he raised a bumper of 
claret to his lips. ‘ As the old turf refrain has it — 

“ Here’s the big stake we never yet landed, 

Here’s hoping we’ll do it this time.” 

Do you know what this means to me ? * 

‘Attaining the very garden of Bendemere,’ rejoined 
his son, laughing ; ‘ a gratifying of the hopes and fears of 
numberless worthy people, whose patience has been pro- 
bably tried to its utmost limit.^ 

‘ It means landing eighty thousand pounds,* rejoined 
Lord Ranksborow. ‘ And you yourself — you’ll do pretty 
well, eh?* 

‘ I should win twenty thousand pounds,* rejoined Lord 
Dartree, ‘ and could afford then to cut racing, and turn 
respectable.* 

‘ I suppose you’ll win the Wroxeter Hunt Steeplechase 
the end of next month?* 

‘ Yes ; I think so ; but there won’t be much money to 
make out of it* 

‘ Yes, it will take clever financing to knock a thousand 
out of it, I suppose,* rejoined the Earl, and then they 
both relapsed into silence. 

No one knew better the wondrous uncertainty of racing 
than Lord Ranksborow. He had seen the horse that 
carried his fortunes knocked over at Tattenham Corner ; 
he had known the flyer he had backed for the Hunt Cup 
reach Ascot only to cough, instead of race ; he had seen 
‘the good thing* he was on for the Cambridgeshire, 
hopelessly shut in at the critical moment. No one of 
the dire casualties of the race-course but what he had 
endured personal experience of; but it did look this 
time as if Fortune meant to shine upon him. All the 
antecedents of Damocles quite justified the supposition 
that he was considerably superior to anything of his year. 
The colt had wintered well, and his trainer was full of 
confidence ; and now his owner, as Lord Ranksborow 
believed, had dispelled the one cloud that dimmed that 
gallant animal’s horizon, by declaring that he would not 


Lord Dartreds Mistake, 


187 

part with him, at ail events before the Derby. Only 
three months now to the great race, and the colt never 
was better. The Earl might well feel sanguine, and he was 
of that disposition. Despite years of experience of the 
many equine maladies that three months may unfold, 
Lord Ranksborow fell to building ‘castles in the air,' and 
indulged himself in that most glorious of all gambling 
fallacies, to wit, resolving how you will spend your money, 
before you have even won it. 

‘ I think, Matilda,' said Lucy Bramton, when she found 
herself alone with her sister on the day of Lord Dartree’s 
visit, ‘it is incumbent on you to give your admirer a 
lesson in good manners. He was downright impertinent 
to papa to-day.' 

‘Yes,' said Miss Bramton, ‘it was rude of him, no 
doubt \ but papa is — ^well, you know what papa is.' 

‘Not so polished as he might be, no doubt,' rejoined 
Lucy, ‘ but I am not going to stand his being laughed at 
before me, by Lord Dartree or anyone else.' 

‘ You are making an unnecessary fuss about a trifle,' 
retorted Miss Bramton. ‘ I admit Lord Dartree was 
somewhat impertinent in the way he accepted papa's 
extremely vulgarly given invitation to lunch ; but it's the 
first time I have ever noticed such a thing, or you may 
be sure I should have called him to order long ago.' 

‘ I can only say, Matilda, I have, two or three times. 
Lord Dartree strikes me as a man who exercises consider- 
able repression on himself, to prevent making constant fun 
of dear papa. He's more your affair than mine, but if he 
commits himself again, and you don’tput him down, I shall’ 

‘My dear Lucy,' replied Miss Bramton loftily, ‘you 
need not distress yourself about upholding the dignity of 
the family. You can't suppose I would allow papa to be 
made a subject of ridicule ? I shall be perfectly competent 
to put down Lord Dartree, should it become necessary. 
He is rather given to badinage, and is, perhaps, at times 
tempted to go too far. You, on the other hand, are 
absurdly sensitive. Don't you disturb yourself, my dear; 
I am quite equal to the situation.' 

‘Very well,' rejoined Lucy; ‘I don't want to interfere; but 
bear in mind, Matilda, no one shall laugh at papa before me.' 


Long Odds. 


1 88 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

ENGLISH HORSES VERSUS ARABS. 

The Halawin Arabs lingered still at the Baynda Wells, 
and Jack Cuxwold was puzzled as to Mohammed 
Sebekh’s motive in so doing. That the Sheikh was a regular 
trimmer, Jack had no doubt, but if he had not taken part 
against the English, as yet, he surely could hardly intend 
to do so now. Some of Mohammed’s followers were 
daily away scouting, and from their reports the Sheikh 
was at length convinced that the British column. would be 
permitted to retreat unmolested. The Mahdi had cap- 
tured Khartoum, and slain the famous English pasha, 
who had so long defied him therein ; and his troops, after 
the rough handling they had received of late, had no 
stomach for further fighting In short, as the English were 
apparently evacuating the country, it was deemed inex- 
pedient to interfere with the infidel dogs further, nor to 
hinder their going. Mohammed Sebekh, now he saw 
which way the game was going, was clearly not likely to 
commit himself. He could, if he chose, pose as ‘ Iriendly,’ 
and, whatever the English chiefs might really think con- 
cerning him, it was not likely that they would treat him 
as otherwise. His intention now was to strike across the 
desert to Jakdul, as soon as he had ascertained that the 
English had left it, and then, pushing on to the Wells of 
Howeiyat, the nearest water to Korti, from thence 
negotiate for the ransom of his prisoner. 

If Jack did not understand all this at the time, yet he 
did the greater part of it. He quite guessed that the 
Sheikh only tarried to see which way the wind blew, and 
that as soon as he was convinced it was not to his interest 
to take part in the fray, that he would be speedily 
anxious to have that matter of his, Jack Cuxwold’s, ran- 
som settled and done with. In the meantime, Mohammed 
Sebekh was very fond of conversing with his prisoner, 
and one question with which the twain had much dis- 
cussion and argument, was upon the supremacy of the 
English or Arab horses. Mohammed, as might have been 
expected, stoutly upheld the superiority of the steeds ol 


English Horses versus Arabs. t^g 

the desert, while Jack Cuxwold laughed at the idea of 
any Arab horse that ever was foaled holding his own with 
a moderate English thoroughbred. 

‘ Why, Sheikh,’ he exclaimed, on one of these occasions, 

‘ we have horses in our camp that would carry two men, 
and leave you, and the best horse you own, far behind in 
a race of two or three miles over the desert.’ 

‘ I have heard,’ answered Mohammed, ‘ that you English 
are very proud of your breed of horses, — ^that you vaunt 
they can outstrip the wind, — that you have a tradition 
amongst you, that years ago you had a famous steed that 
could gallop a mile in one minute, but such English 
horses as I have seen, I am sure could not do that. 
They are big, but they are not of pure blood. We 
Arabs think more of blood than of size, both in man 
and horse. It’s the blood tells when the strain comes.’ 

‘ Quite so ; but you have never seen an English 
thoroughbred horse. The few you have seen, have only 
been half-bred horses. We preserve the blood of our 
highly-bred horses as jealously as you do.’ 

‘The blood of the Nedgid Arabs has run unstained in 
their veins for centuries,’ rejoined Mohammed proudly. 

‘Well, if it comes to that,’ rejoined Jack, rather nettled, 

‘ we can trace the pedigree of our racers back for a couple 
of hundred years, and I fancy our stud-book is more 
rigidly kept than yours.’ 

‘ What do you mean by a stud-book ? ’ asked Mo- 
hammed. 

Jack Cuxwold then proceeded to explain to the Sheikh 
that the birth of every thoroughbred horse in England, as 
well as the name of the sire and dam, were registered in 
a volume kept by people appointed for that purpose. 

Mohammed listened to this explanation with a face of 
polite incredulity, and at the finish of it, stroked his beard, 
and exclaimed, — ‘ It is very wonderful ! ’ 

This was only a sample of many conversations of the 
same kind that passed between Mohammed and his 
prisoner. The Sheikh, indeed, though evidently ex- 
tremely sceptical, seemed never to weary of the subject, 
and showed Jack the pick of his own stable — if I may use 
the term to horses who had no experience of such a 


tgo Long' Odds 

building — with as much pride as the famous Kingsclerc 
trainer was wont to throw open the door of Ormond’s box; 
and they were horses to be proud of. Pure-bred Arabs, 
and looking it all over ; small, like all Arab horses, but the 
fineness of the skin, through which the veins could be 
clearly traced; the lean, thorough-bred head, with its bold, 
open nostril, and large, soft eyes, all spoke to the i)urity 
of their descent. The Sheikh’s curiosity to see one of 
these English thoroughbreds grew apace. He sounded 
Jack upon the subject, and even hinted that it would be 
a delicate attention on the part of his guest — as he was 
most scrupulous about regarding Jack — to present liim 
with one before he left, pointing out that to an English ‘ my 
lord ’ — such as Captain Cuxwold was in his own country, 
— five thousand pounds was a very paltry sum to de- 
mand for saving his life and keeping him out of harm’s 
way during such dangerous times as they had just passed 
through. Then, seeing that Jack did not altogether re- 
ceive this proposition with enthusiasm, he suggested that 
if the Englishman could procure from his friends such a 
horse as he described, it would be a graceful courtesy 
at parting if they should exchange horses ; and then the 
wily old horse-coper bethought him of one of his stud, 
well stricken in years, that would do admirably as a part- 
ing gift for Jack Cuxwold. 

That gallant dragoon was beginning to wish most de- 
voutly that the days of his captivity were numbered. His 
position was getting exceedingly awkward. He had no- 
thing to do in camp, and in great measure it fell to Zelnb 
to entertain him. What was he to do ? He was per- 
petually sauntering about with a maiden who made no 
disguise of her love for him. He had lost his head about 
the girl once, and there was nothing for it now but to go 
on love-making. Yet when the time of his release came, 
it would be impossible for him to take her away with him. 
‘Fancy the explosion there would be at Kiiightshayes 
if he turned up with such an appanage as this Arab 
maiden 1 ’ He certainly was not prepared to turn Ma- 
hommetan, be adopted into the tribe of the Halawins, 
and pass the remainder of his life in the desert ; and yet 
he remembered remorsefully that Zelnfe had saved his life. 


English Horses versus A rads. igi 

It was not his fault altogether — he could hardly help it, but 
he had returned that boon, by stealing her heart. He 
was not more punctilious in his loves than men of his 
class generally, holding that women, as a rule, could take 
pretty good care of themselves, and that it behoved a 
soldier to accept his bonnes fortunes as they came to him ; 
but this was different. He could not wrong this girl, to 
whom he owed his very existence ; and yet he had, as he 
knew, unwittingly done so in some measure. 

‘ They’re so deuced inflammable in these tropical cli- 
mates,’ he muttered ; ‘ and when a girl with such glorious 
eyes as Zelnb looks up into one’s face, and lets it be seen 
that she’s spoons on a fellow, what is he to do but kiss 
her ? There is but one way out of the scrape. It sounds 
rather mean, but the best thing for I oth of us would be 
if I could make a clean bolt of it. Not so easy, though. 
I am apparently under no restraint, but unless I am with 
Zelne, my friends here keep a pretty sharp eye on me.’ 

Here his mediialions were interrupted by the maiden 
in question, who said archly, — 

‘ My lord looks grave. Is it that he is tired of his long 
stay by the Wells of Bayue’.a? ’ 

‘No, Zelnfe dearest, it is not that; but I am not, like 
you, used to the monotony of the desert' 

‘ Monotony ! What ! the desert, with its ever-changing 
shadows, with its pure air, its glorious nights ! It’s very 
little I have seen of towns, but they seemed so close, con- 
fused, so pitiful, after the free expanse of the desert’ 

‘ But we are about to leave this, Zelnh ; is it not so ? 
Even you Arabs wnll admit that it is the wandering life 
you lead, constitutes the great charm of the desert.’ 

‘Yes; it is rarely we stay so long in one place as we 
have here. This is out of the regular routes, and my 
father cared not to be mixed up with all the fighting. 
He is no believer in the Mahdi, but would never range 
himself under your flag. The desert belongs to her chil 
dren,’ concluded Zeln^ proudly. 

‘ As I told you before,’ rejoined Jack, ‘ we English make 
no claim to the Soudan. We came to rescue our great 
chief, who was shut up in Khartoum. We have failed — he 
dead. We have no further quarrel with your people.' 


192 Long Odds. 

‘ I am glad to hear you say that,’ replied Zelnb. ‘ Youi 
tribe in England, they don’t live in tents as we do. Your 
climate is too cold for that. I suppose you have one 
great castle, and huts, and sheds round, for your depend- 
ants and cattle ? ’ 

‘ Something of that kind, Zelnb,’ returned Jack, smiling 
as he thought of Knightshayes. 

‘ Yes ; and you think much of your breed of horses,’ 
continued the girl, ‘ and even believe, my father tells me, 
that they could outstrip the famous breed that has been 
in our house for centuries.’ 

‘ Would go a monkey on the match ! ’ ejaculated Jack. 
‘ I mean — I haven’t the slightest doubt of it.’ 

‘ I should like to see one of these horses of the wind,’ 
whispered Zelnfe. 

‘ And so you shall, darling, as quickly as I can lay my 
hands on one. It is difficult now, while I am a prisoner.’ 

‘ Ah ! but you will not be that much longer. We leave 
here to-morrow for the Wells of Jakdul. Is my lord glad ? ’ 

‘ Am I not a prisoner for life to your bright eyes, my 
sweet Zelnh ? ’ rejoined Jack, developing an unexpected 
and most injudicious turn for Eastern hyperbole ; but, as 
he remarked afterwards, ' there is no doing this sort of 
thing by halves.’ 

‘ My father will want to speak to you this afternoon. 
He will wish you to get ready the letter you must send 
to Korti ; he is very anxious to see one of these famous 
horses that can gallop down the steeds of the Halawins.’ 

‘There may not be a horse of the race I mean at 
Korti, but if there is, the eyes of yourself and your father 
shall be gratified, Zelnfe. Now, I must go and get this 
letter ready.’ 

The girl sighed as she walked away towards her own 
tent, and said to herself, ‘ He loves me, but, ah ! not as I 
love him. I could give up my father, my people, the 
desert life I love so well, and cling to him ; but men are 
• different. They will not renounce their creed and country 
for the love of woman.’ 

Jack sat down as he proposed, to write to the Colonel 
of his regiment, and inform him of his situation, — how that 
he was a prisoner in the hands of tjie Arabs, and that 


English Horses versus Arabs. 193 

Mohammed Sebekh demanded five thousand pounds to 
set him free. ‘ If that is not forthcoming, the said Sheikh 
threatens to carry me off with him into the wilds of the 
Soudan. Whether it is possible to raise the money I 
must leave for you and others to determine, but I see no 
possibility of extricating myself from my present scrape 
otherwise. A small party would run no risk in coming 
out to confer with Mohammed Sebekh, but to come out 
in force, would only be a signal for the Halawins to dis- 
appear in the desert. My family will, of course, repay 
what money may be advanced for me.’ 

When he had got that far. Jack thought he would go to 
the Sheikh’s tent, and read it to him. Mohammed listened 
to him attentively, and when he had finished said, — 

‘ It is good. My lord’s ransom will be doubtless soon 
ready, but he has said nothing about the horse.’ 

‘ No,’ replied Jack ; ‘ I am going to write another letter 
about that,’ and suddenly an idea flashed through his 
brain, that he determined was worth working out. 

Returning to his tent, he sat down and composed an- 
other epistle, this time to his subaltern Checquers. That 
young gentleman he knew to be as cool and quick-witted 
as anyone in the force. He had to be careful as to what 
he said, as it was quite possible there was someone 
amongst the tribe who could read English. Zelnb, for 
instance, spoke it a little, and, for all he knew to the 
contrary, read it. He could only trust that Checquers 
might be able to read between the lines. 

‘ Dear Checquers,’ he wrote, — ‘ The Colonel will tell 
you that I have fallen into the hands of the Philistines, 
that they have put a price upon my head, and have 
appraised your noble captain considerably higher than he 
has ever been valued as yet. My host, Sheikh Mohammed 
Sebekh, possesses crude ideas on the matter of horse 
flesh, and persistently maintains that an Arab steed can 
outrun an English thoroughbred. It would facilitate my 
release if I could convince him that he is wrong. He 
will doubtless expect a present at parting, in additioh to 
his tribute. If you can pick up a fair thoroughbred 
Jtiprse^ send him out. Is The Bantam — (he horse that won 
^ " 


194 Long Odds. 

the Khedive’s Cup at Cairo last spring — anywhere abort 
Korti ? If so, tell his owner he may put his own price 
on him, but that I want him for a special purpose. 
Love to everyone. — Yours ever, Jack Cuxwold.’ 

‘There,’ said Jack, as he folded the epistle, ‘that’s as 
plain as I dare make it. If Checquers can’t understand 
Tve a game otiy I can’t help it ! ’ 

CHAPTER XXX. 

‘the mummer.’ 

Early the next morning the camp was astir, tents were 
struck, camels were loaded, and all the preparations for 
the march made, with that rapidity and facility to which 
dwellers in tents get so soon habituated. Jack rode ap- 
parently, though unarmed, perfectly free in the midst of the 
band, but they had taken very good care not to mount 
him on his own dromedary, nor had he any reason to 
believe that his host had by any means picked out the 
be*st horse in the stable for his riding. However, the 
Halawins moved rapidly, and, though it was a long 
way, with the exception of two halts, and those of short 
duration, the Arabs never drew bridle till they reached 
the Wells of Jakdul. There the tents were once more 
pitched, and it was evident that a somewhat prolonged 
halt was intended. Mohammed Sebekh indeed informed 
Jack that he should remain there twenty-four hours, but 
that as soon as they w’ere rested, two of his young men 
should carry Jack’s letter into Korti, and that he and his 
iribe would then proceed to the Wells of Howeiyat, to 
aw^ait the English General’s answer to his demand. 

Jack slept soundly that night, and, as he idled about 
by the Wells the next morning, congratulated himself up- 
on one thing, — if anything should come of the daring 
scheme that he had conceived, he had, at all events, 
achieved one great point, — he was no longer lost, he w^as 
on the known desert route, and could find his way 
to Korti ; could he but escape, he was no longer 
astmy as to the road he had to travel; add to which, 
when they reached the Wells of Howeiyat, he would 
be still nearer, — in shorty within one long day’s ride ot 


^The Mum^ner! ig^ 

his old comrades. He was sanguine that Checquers would 
understand his note; but the great difficulty lay in this : 
Was The Bantam forthcoming, or was it possible for 
Checquers to find him such a horse as he required? If 
he could get an English thoroughbred, Jack felt that 
it depended solely on his own dexterity and horseman- 
ship to laugh at Mohammed Sebekh’s beard ; but it was 
useless to attempt to escape, unless he felt pretty sure he 
was on a good horse. 

‘ Five thousand pounds,’ he muttered, ‘is worth risking 
my skin for. If my scheme succeeds, I shall save my 
ransom, and what, upon my word, I regard almost as 
much, I shall avoid saying farewell to Zelnfe.’ 

‘ Great was the excitement amongst his old comrades 
when Jack’s letter arrived at Korti. They had long given 
him up for lost, and supposed that he had the mischance 
to fall in with a small party of wandering Arabs some- 
where between Metammeh and Jakdul, and that his 
bones were now, like those of many others, bleaching 
amid the sands of the Soudan. 

‘ Hurrah 1 ’ cried Checquers, when the Colonel handed 
him his note. ‘ Why, Jack’s alive, and not. only alive, but 
very much alive. I don’t know what he says to you, sir, 
but he’s at the old game again, as I read his letter, and 
he’s got a match on with the venerable old robber into 
whose hands he has fallen. The English horse against 
the Arab, catch w^eights, owners up.’ 

‘Let me see your letter, Checquers,’ returned the 
Colonel. ‘ This Mohammed Sebekh, to whom he is pay- 
ing this involuntary visit, is determined not to part with 
him until he gets five thousand pounds. Of course it has 
got to be paid, but it has to be raised first. Whether 
they could spare such a sum from the military chest, and 
whether Lord Wolseley wwild authorise it if they could, 
is doubtful ; and it will take some little time to arrange 
otherwise. I have no doubt the Earl of Ranksborow, 
as Cuxw^cld says, will repay it, but it will take weeks be- 
fore he could remit the money. I must go and take 
counsel with the authorities.’ 

‘One moment, sir,’ said Checquers. ‘ Under any cir- 
cumstances, we must temporise ; is it not so?’» 


196 Long Odds, 

‘ Certainly/ rejoined the Colonel. 

‘ Very well, sir. If I understand Jack Cuxwold — and I 
know my dear old skipper pretty well — he sees his way 
into fooling old Mohammed some. I know the sort of 
horse he wants. One that can gallop, stay, and is pretty 
fit. Jack means the winning-post of that race to be 
Korti. Now, he and I, as you know, are always mad 
about garrison races, regimental matches, etc. We always 
know in whose hands every race-horse in the army is. 
All the fighting has rather disturbed the diffusion of such 
useful knowledge, but I think I know where to lay hands 
on The Bantam.’ 

‘You young robber,’ rejoined his chief, laughing; ‘I 
believe you dream of matches with 7 lbs. in hand.’ 

‘ If The Bantam is only fit, he’s the very horse for Jack’s 
business,’ rejoined Checquers; ‘and Tom Donaldson, to 
help Jack do an Arab, in a match of ;£^5ooo a-side — for 
that’s what it amounts to — would let him have him, I’m 
sure. Temporise a week or two, sir. Gi\’e me time to get 
The Bantam, and give him a gallop or two, and I only wi;>h 
I’d a monkey on the match, and a photograph of old 
Mohammed’s face, when Jack leaves him at the winning- 
post, and, feigning he can’t pull his horse up, gallops 
straight into Korti.’ 

‘ You’re a sanguine young man,’ rejoined the Colonel ; 
‘ however, there’s never any harm in having two strings to 
one’s bow. You see about your mission, and I’ll see 
about mine. We must, of course, send an answer of 
some sort at once to the Wells of Howeiyat, where 
Mohammed Sebekh is waiting our reply.’ 

The Sheikh carried out his intentions, and, after twenty- 
four hours’ halt at Jakdul, pushed on to the Wells of 
Howeiyat. He had his spies and scouts close around, 
and even at Korti, so as to have speedy intelligence of 
any contemplated expedition against himself and his tribe. 
But the authorities there had no such intention. There 
were but two ways, they thought, to rescue Jack Cuxwold — 
either by money or by stratagem. They were quite aware 
that the Halawins were a powerful and well-armed tribe, 
who were supposed to have taken a prominent part in 
the massacre of Hicks’ army two years before ; and to 


The Munifner! 


197 

attack them with any hope of success, would require 
a considerable force, — not such a column as had been de- 
spatched to Metammeh, but still a force of some strength. 
If Cuxwold could escape by strategy, they could but 
provide him with the horse he asked for : the rest must be 
his own doing. As for the money, that would take some 
few days to arrange. A* diplomatic answer was accord- 
ingly sent to Mohammed Sebekh, to the effect that the 
money would be sent to him as soon as it could be 
collected, while it was further intimated that if an English 
horse could be procured, it would also be forwarded, to 
enable Captain Cuxwold to make a suitable nuzzur to 
his host. Accompanying this missive, was a note from 
Checquers, which ran as follows, — 

‘Dear Jack, — We are all awfully glad to hear that 
you’ve turned up, though what happened to you exactly, 
puzzles us extremely. The chief has told you all about 
the money arrangements, but the horse is my business. 
I can’t get hold of The Bantam, and he has got a doubtful 
leg, even if I could, but I’ve got my eye on the very horse 
you want, and am going to send him to you in a few 
days. I don’t think you ever saw The Mummer, by 
Adventurer out of Footlights. He’s a rare stayer, very fit, 
and I think just the horse you want. I fancy his long 
raking stride will smash up the best Arab that ever was 
foaled. — Ever yours, Jim Checquers. 

— I should like to stand some of your money on 
the match.’ 

Jack laughed when he read his sub’s letter. It was 
quite evident that Checquers thoroughly took in the whole 
scheme ; indeed, the idea commended itself not a little 
to that dare-devil young gentleman, and Jack felt that 
he could confidently rely upon Checquers sending such 
a horse as he wanted. The next, thing was to communi- 
cate the contents of these letters to Mohammed, who, 
with Eastern gravity, was waiting till it should please 
his guest to speak. 

Jack first read him out his Colonel’s letter, and, com- 
menting upon it, said, — 


198 Long Odds. 

‘You see, O Sheikh, that such a large sum as this 
must take some little time to collect. This war has 
impoverished us English. The sum is large, and you 
must grant a few days’ delay.’ 

‘ It is just,’ replied Mohammed. ‘ I and my people 
will tarry for a week by the Wells of Howeiyat ; but there 
is no mention of the horse.’ 

The desire to possess an English horse had seized 
upon Mohammed’s mind very strongly, and Jack saw 
that he might as well make a virtue of necessity, and 
present it to the chief, unless he succeeded in escaping 
on it, as it was quite clear to him that the Sheikh would 
never allow him to take the horse away with him, pay in 
every pound of the sum demanded as his ransom though 
he might. 

‘ Now,’ thought Jack, ‘is my time to chaff old Front de 
Boeuf into a match. Brag, I must brag — there’s nothing 
like brag. He don’t believe a word I say about English 
thoroughbreds, and, though he is too polite to say so, 
thinks me a most stupendous liar.’ 

‘ This other letter is about the horse. Sheikh. One of 
my friends writes confidently that he will be able to 
send me^ a pure-bred English horse in a few days, and 
laughs at the idea of there being an Arab horse capable 
of contending with him.’ 

‘ It is not always the cock that crows the loudest that 
wins the battle. The ass is more noisy than the horse, 
but he is neither so swift nor so strong, for all that.’ 

‘ By Jove ! ’ muttered Jack, ‘ I’m not to have all the chaff 
my own side. Old Front de Boeuf seems a “ nailer ” at 
it, in his own way.’ 

‘ Well,’ he replied at length, ‘ we English are very confid- 
ent of the superiority of our horses, and, beautiful and high- 
bred as I admit yours are, I still maintain they would have 
no chance whatever with a pure-bred English horse.’ 

‘ We shall see — we shall try.’ 

‘ Then, Sheikh, before I leave you, you will run a race 
with me — you on the best horse you own, I riding that my 
friend has sent me, for five miles. Will that suit you?’ 

‘ Not quite,’ replied Mohammed. ‘ I will run you five 
miles out, and five miles home again.’ 


'^The Mummer! tgg 

* What an old leg it is thought Jack to himself. * Upon 
my soul, before he had been a year at Newmarket, I be- 
lieve he’d hold his own with the best of them. He knows 
this much about English horses, that they are big and 
iong striding. Of course, that turn round the post at the 
end of the five miles is all against the long-striding Eng- 
lish thoroughbred, whilst the little handy Arab would gain 
an advantage of many lengths as he slips round. However, 
it won’t be the pull he thinks.’ 

‘ All right, Sheikh,’ he said ; ‘ I shall beat you, either five 
miles or ten — it don’t matter which.’ 

‘So be it; we shall see,’ rejoined the imperturbable 
Mohammed. 

During the next few days, Zelnb was in a great state 
of mind. She knew the negotiations for the release of her 
lover were going on, — that they were only awaiting their 
successful conclusion in their present encampment, — that a 
few days more and she would have said “ good-bye ” to the 
man whose life she had saved, and learned to love, probably 
for ever. It was very bitter, but she knew that it must 
be so. She would have fled with him, or to him, and 
even given up the wild desert life, which was as the breath 
of her nostrils, to live amongst aliens and cities, if he had 
but held up his finger. But she knew he would not do 
so. She felt that he loved her in a way, but with no such 
wild, passionate love as she craved from him, — a love that 
could give up everything for her sake. There had been 
such men, she had heard. Was there not the legend of 
some great prince who gave up the empire of the world for 
the love of Egypt’s great queen ? But, she was fain to con- 
fess, she had never known one of these men. She had, 
of course, heard of the match between her father and his 
guest, and was as incredulous as Mohammed himself, in 
the first instance ; but latterly she had began to change 
her opinion. Her lover had assured her that the English 
horse would prove triumphant, and what will not a woman 
believe when her lover tells her a thing is so? She was 
in a state of feverish unrest. Was not the one romance of 
her young life about to terminate miserably ? Ransom? 
There was little doubt about that : these English had so 
much money. Ah, how she wished her father had not de- 


200 


Long Odds 

manded that ! Was he not hers ? — her captive, whose very 
life she had saved ? — and it was pitiful of Mohammed 
Sebekh to demand salvage for complying with the mere 
laws of humanity, she felt. Her captive ! — what mockery ! 
— a captive she was powerless to hold in bondage in the 
sole way she cared for. Her captive, alas ! Shame on her 
that it was so, but she was his. Well, she must steel her 
heart to the inevitable. There could be no union between 
the infidel and the true believer. Why not? There was a 
Paradise for the Christian as well as theJVToslem, but for 
the Mahommedan woman, there was no hereafter, so what 
need it matter ? She might be his leman, for the matter 
of that ; and then Zelnb sobbed herself to sleep, still won- 
dering by what mischance she stumbled on the dying 
Englishman in the desert. It was her kismet, but it was 
none the less hard to bear. 


CHAPTER XXXL 

CHAFFED INTO A MATCH. 

A FEW days later, and a small detachment of dragoons, 
from Korti — not above half a score troopers — under a non- 
commissioned officer, ride into the camp of the Hala- 
wins, bringing with them a carefully-sheeted quadruped, 
which it is at once whispered about ^mongst the tribe, is 
the pure-bred English horse that is destined to compete 
with the desert-born horses of their Sheikh. Not an Arab 
amongst them but believes this race to be but the craze of 
the mad Englishman who has fallen into their hands. 
But, if they were, sceptical before, they broke into derisive 
laughter when, at the desire of Mohammed, The Mummer 
was stripped for inspection. In good truth, he was not a 
taking horse, with his plain head, lop ears — which, to an 
English racing man, would have told of the Melbourne 
strain in his blood — and slightly Roman nose. His great 
ragged hips, and thighs let low down, might have attracted 
the attention of an expert in racing matters, but it as- 
suredly required some credulity to believe that The Mum« 
mer was clean bred. Nobody, not even his greatest ad- 
mirers, not even those who had more than once won their 
money over him, could call him a handsome horse. 


Chaffed into a Match, 201 

There he stood, a great, leathering bright bay of sixteen 
hands, quiet as a sheep, and with apparently about as 
much go in him. He was aged, and, only two or three 
years ago, at Lichfield, a prominent member of the Ring, 
on The Mummer being pointed out to him as a probable 
winner of the Queen’s Plate, exclaimed, — ‘ What ! that 
exaggerated old clothes-horse win. Rubbish 1 Here’s 
six monkeys, The Mummer, or any part of it.’ But he 
paid. 

To say Jack Cuxwold was impressed with his horse, 
would hardly express his feelings. His first ejaculation 
was, ‘ What an old scarecrow ! ’ but then he called to mind 
some rather redoubtable performances of The Mummer, of 
which, though he had not witnessed them, he had read. 
Then it flashed across him that if ever there was an 
English horse calculated to throw dust in the eyes of the 
Halawins, it was this one. Then he reflected that his 
astute subaltern was the last man in the world to make a 
mistake about such a matter ; and finally came from the 
non-commissioned officer in charge of the party, a whisper, 
in Checquers’ well-known tones, — 

‘ It’s all right. Jack. If he’s a rum un to look at, he’s 
also a rum un to go.’ 

But now, strange to say, another most unforeseen diffi- 
culty sprang up, and this was, that, after looking the Eng- 
lish horse over, Mohammed Sebekh was furious. 

‘ This your boasted breed ! ’ he said. ‘ You laugh at my 
beard. You bring that thing into the desert which is as 
much like a camel as a horse. Go to ! To bring out one 
of the pure Nedjid line to contend against a mere beast 
of burthen like that, would be to be laughed at by my 
whole tribe.’ 

‘You must do as you like, Sheikh,’ rejoined Jack 
curtly. ‘ In my country, we claim forfeit for a match, when 
a man’s afraid to run. That under-sized camel, as you 
call him, will beat any four-footed beast in your tents, if 
you have the courage to run against him.’ 

This, as was intended, only made the Sheikh still more 
angry. 

‘ Beware how far you go. Look to it, Englishman, that 
you make not Mohammed Sebekh a laughing-stock in 


202 


Long Odds. 

front of his tribe. An Arab brooks not insult, and loves 
revenge dearer than gold.’ 

‘Pleasant this,’ thought Jack, ‘if I happen to make a 
mess of it.’ 

‘ If to beat you in a race, Sheikh, is to spit upon your 
beard, you had best not run,’ he said aloud, somewhat 
contemptuously. 

‘ I shall race with you, Englishman,’ replied Moham- 
med, ‘ and if I find your boasted steed to be no quicker 
than a donkey, on your head be it.’ 

‘ Ask for three days’ delay,’ said Checquers ; but, low as 
the tone was, it reached Mohammed’s ears. 

‘ What is it he says ? ’ asked the Sheikh. 

‘He advises me to ask for three days’ grace. You 
can see why. My horse has travelled far; he wants that 
much rest, before he is called upon to contend against the 
fleetest horses of the desert.’ 

‘ It is just,’ replied Mohammed. ‘ On the third day from 
this, we will see whether your mouth has spoken the 
thing that is, or whether it is the mere boasting of a 
braggart.’ 

Jack Cuxwold simply bowed his head in sign of assent, 
and then proceeded to see after the requirements of 
Checquers and his men. But he speedily perceived he 
was jealously watched, and that it would be imprudent 
to indulge in talk with his subaltern. The Arabs were 
evidently suspicious, and it was necessary for his scheme 
to lull those suspicions to sleep, as far as possible. 
Checquers, on his part, was quick to apprehend the 
situation, and made not the slightest attempt to con- 
verse with his Captain. He felt pretty certain that he 
thoroughly understood Jack’s scheme. He knew that to 
aid him further than he had done was nearly impossible, 
and determined that, after his men had been fed and 
enjoyed a few hours’ good sleep, the best thing he could 
do was to return to Korti, and await the result of the 
race. 

As he bade Jack good-bye the next morning, he 
saluted punctiliously, in accordance with his assumed 
rank, and said, — ‘ I hope and think you will win, sir 
and, dropping his tone, he added, ‘ Help halpway^ 


Chaffed into a Match. 203 

Closely as the Arabs watched over the departure of the 
dragoons — and there w^ere purposely one or two amongst 
them with some knowledge of English — those three last 
words escaped their vigilant ears ; and as Checquers and 
his troopers disappeared in the distance, Jack felt that, 
though an eye was kept upon his movements, he was no 
longer under strict supervision. 

'Fhe next day Jack demanded Mohammed’s permission 
to exercise The Mummer, and give him a gallop. The 
Sheikh admitted the fairness of the request, agreeing 
with Jack that horses required plenty of healthy exercise 
to keep them in good condition. The Arabs are horse- 
dealers by nature, and there was much curiosity amidst 
the tribe to see the Englishman’s horse gallop ; but Jack 
very soon found that the direction in which that gallop was 
to be, was carefully marked out for him, and that small 
parties of mounted horsemen were stationed here and 
there, carelessly, as if to see how The Mummer went 
when extended, but, at the same time, in such manner 
that one party or another would be able to intercept 
him, should he be rash enough to attempt an escape, lliis 
did not look very promising,^he thought, for his scheme. 
If he was thus guarded on the day of the race, it would be 
almost madness to put it into execution. However, he had 
made up his mind about one thing, and that was not to 
expose his horse until the actual day came. The Hala- 
wins, therefore, to their great disgust, were treated to no- 
thing but a long, slow gallop, quickened a little during 
the last mile or so, but giving no idea of what the horse’s 
actual powers might be. But that gallop had taught 
Jack something, and that was that The Mummer was a 
powerful, lazy horse, quite content to lob along, unless 
called on. 

Zelnh had ridden out to see how the English horse 
went, but she, like all her tribe, knew that no idea of 
what The Mummer could do, was to be gathered from 
what they had seen. Accustomed to ‘bucket’ their own 
horses unmercifully, except on long journeys, the Arabs 
could not understand a long, slow training gallop. Their 
idea was that the first impulse of the Englishman would 
be to try this new horse, which was confessedly unknown 


204 Long Odds. 

to him. That was what any one of themselves would 
have done. They would first have endeavoured to form 
some estimate of his fleetness, and, secondly, of his bottom. 
Surely the Englishman could not be so mad as to think 
he could wear their horses down at that pace ? Yet, unless 
his horse could go but a little quicker, why did he hesitate 
to put him to his speed? The consensus of opinion 
amongst the Halawins was that this English paragon was 
an immensely over-estimated animal And they came 
finally to the conclusion that if it was not all braggadocio 
that the English possessed such wonderful horses, then 
had the English lord been grossly imposed upon; and 
some of the elders of the tribe smiled, as they remembered 
how often they had sold inferior horses as the pure- 
bred steeds of the desert. Zelnb alone, of all her tribe, 
believed in the powers of The Mummer. She watched 
her lover closely during these two days ; he was kinder 
and more devoted to her than ever, but she noticed 
that he was sad and pre-occupied. That they must part, 
he made no disguise, though he refused to admit that 
it was never to meet again ; but she knew better — she 
did not deceive herself ugon that point. It is hard 
to blind the keen eyes of affection, and Zelnb by this 
knew every trick of his countenance,^could interpret 
every smile or shadow that crossed his face. Mercifully, 
till the finish comes to all of us, we rarely realise in this 
world how often we are fated to say ‘ good-bye,' for ever ! 

The next day. Jack again rode The Mummer, ^ and 
once more did the tribe turn out to see the performance. 
It was a mere repetition of the day before, except in one 
particular. As Jack commenced the last mile of his 
gallop, a well-mounted young Arab suddenly conceived 
the idea of, in racing parlance, ‘ getting a line/ by bustling 
The Mummer up a bit. No sooner did this brilliant 
thought strike him, than he put spurs to his horse, 
dashed alongside of Jack, and commenced a race with 
him. Jack apparently fell into the trap, and, laughing in 
his sleeve, determined to show the Arab one of the tricks 
of English jockeyship. He affected to bustle his horse. 
He got up his hand, and administered two or three 
decided cuts with the whip — to his boot ; but it was all of 


Chaffed into a Match, 20$ 

no use. The Mummer quickened his pace not an iota ; 
he fell further and further behind, and, finally, the Arab 
dashed his horse triumphantly past the assumed winning- 
post, at least a dozen lengths in advance. 

Screams, yells of delight, burst from the throats of the 
Halawins, as they witnessed the success of their own 
champion, though, as Jack said to Mr Checquers after- 
wards, when describing the pseudo trial, ‘Such a shame- 
less bit of “ kidding would have ensured my being hooted 
off the course at Stockbridge or Croydon.’ But the niceties 
of jockeyship are as yet not understood in the Soudan, 
keen horse-copers though the Arabs of that region for the 
most part are. That the incident was duly reported to 
Mohammed Sebekh, was matter of course, and once 
more was that fiery chieftain roused to wrath. His was 
a singularly composite character. He had all the rapacity 
and fearlessness of a Front de Boeuf, conjoined with the 
cunning and avarice of old Trapbois. A schemer, intriguer, 
and liar, he feared but one thing, and that was the being 
made ridiculous. We writhe under that even in the West, 
but, to the grave, dignified Eastern, to be laughed at is a 
great humiliation, — a thing, as a matter of policy, too, 
not to be endured. An Arab sheikh who once becomes 
an object of derision, it is likely will not remain chief of 
his tribe much longer; and Mohammed, from what he 
heard, had a strong idea that Jack Cuxwold was jesting 
with him, and, as I have said, they have a scant apprecia- 
tion of humour in the East. 

Once more did Mohammed send for his prisoner, and 
haughtily menace him with the consequences of making 
him a laughing-stock in the face of the assembled Hala- 
wins, and again did Jack taunt the Sheikh with wanting 
to back out of the match, and declare that, if he refused 
to run, he, Cuxwold, was entitled to claim the best horse 
the Sheikh possessed. No such condition as this had 
been made, but when aggravation is the main object we 
have in view, veracity becomes a very minor considera- 
tion. Stung by his prisoner’s jibes, once more did Mo- 
hammed Sebekh vow that the match should stand, but 
that it did so at his, Cuxwold’s, peril. 

‘ I’m quite aware of that,’ thought Jack, as he walked 


206 


Long Odds. 

away from the Sheikhas tent. ‘If it comes off, your 
temper won’t be heavenly — but that won’t matter ; and if 
it don’t, well, I don’t think you’ll cut off your nose to 
spite your face, or lose five thousand pounds to indulge 
in the luxury of cutting my head off. No, I don’t run half 
the risk I’ve done a score of times of late, to say nothing 
of never having had anything like such a stake on it.’ 

At this moment he encountered Zelnb, and, despite him- 
self, the smile with which he was picturing Mohammed’s 
rage at finding himself outwitted, faded from his counten- 
ance, and his face fell. This was the terrible trouble of 
his situation. He not only had a strong affection for the 
girl, but he most conscientiously recognised that he owed 
his life to her to boot He had not sought, in the first in- 
stance, to win her affections, but when he found that she 
was won,— that she was wildly in love with the man she had 
saved, what could he do but swim with the stream ? How 
it was all to end, had troubled him not a little. To make 
her his wife was an impossibility, even had he wished it, 
and to carry her off under any other condition, was to 
repay all he owed her by the basest ingratitude, albeit he 
knew Eastern women do not attach so much importance 
to the marriage service as their sisters of the West. 

‘My lord looks sad,’ said Zeln^. ‘ Is he afraid of the 
result of to-morrow’s race ? ’ 

‘ No, Zelnb dearest. I feel as confident of winning as 
ever, in spite of the apparent beating I received to-day.’ 

‘ It was as I thought, you did not wish to beat my 
countryman ; but to-morrow, I know it will be different.’ 

‘ I think so. I feel sure that you have none of you any 
idea what an English horse can do, when he is ridden 
in earnest.’ 

‘Ah, dearest, I know you so well. I can sec the 
finish of to-morrow’s race. You are about to leave me. 
Will you grant me a favour?’ 

‘ Anything I can do for you, Zelnb, you know I will,’ 
replied Jack. 

‘It is not much. Will you swear to carry this note 
that I have written, about you to-morrow, and not to read 
it or open it till the race is over ? ’ 

‘Certainly, Zelne. But what can you mean ? What is it?* 


The Race in the Desert. 

‘A charm — an amulet, perhaps ; who knows ? We be- 
lieve in such things. I may wish you to beat my father, 
and in my little way would arm you for the contest. Will 
you swear ? * 

‘Yes,’ said Jack, as he took the note. ‘I swear not to 
read it till after the race.’ 

‘ That is good of you,’ said Zelnb. ‘ Now, kiss me, dar^ 
ling, and good-night.’ 

A fond embrace, and the lovers parted. Jack Cuxwold 
went to his tent more remorseful than ever at the love- 
passages which had passed between himself and this 
Arab maiden. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

THE RACE IN THE DESERT. 

The next day was quite a gala day amongst the Halawins. 
The tribe was all en fHe, and had organised a series of sports 
and races amongst themselves ; but the great event of the 
day was to be, of course, the match between their Sheikh 
and the Englishman. Their pickets reported there was no 
sign of the enemy to be seen along the route to Korti. 
Lances stuck into the ground, with pennons fluttering 
from their heads, indicated the track. These lances were 
to be kept to the left hand, both going and returning, and 
at the turning point two lances had been tied together, 
so as to distinguish that point from the other landmarks. 
The course chosen ran from the Wells into the desert to- 
wards Korti, but in an oblique direction from the regular 
route. All this had been carefully explained to Jack, and 
it had been decided that the race should be run in the after- 
noon, as soon as the sun got a little low in the heavens. 

Jack Cuxwold had looked after The Mummer himself, 
and had spent the morning puzzling over many things. 
None, perhaps, had mystified him more than this note that 
Zelnh had placed in his hands. What could it mean ? 
Was it really an amulet, as she had said? Did she really 
wish her father to be beaten in this match? He had 
promised not to look at it till after the race, and he 
would keep his word. It should rest in the breast- 
pocket of his jacket, till either he had escaped or found 


2o8 


Lo7tg Odds. 

that escape was impracticable. Jack knew that if he 
succeeded in getting through the Arabs, he had still a 
very stiff job before him, — the Halawins would be sure 
to hang like very wolves upon his trail up to within a mile 
or two of Korti. From the Wells to that place was about 
fifty miles, and Jack knew that this would have to be 
.done almost without drawing bridle. He had no doubt 
whatever that The Mummer would have the speed of the 
Arabs, but those wiry desert-born steeds bad great 
powers of endurance, and greater capacity, perhaps from 
habit, of doing better for a long time without food and 
water, than an English horse. Such halts as he might 
make, he knew must be exceeding brief, even under the 
most favourable circumstances. He felt sure that his 
pursuers would never be very far behind him, and that 
even with what looked like a long lead, a few minutes 
out of the saddle would be the utmost he could do to 
ease The Mummer between this and Korti. Then 
suddenly flashed across him Checquers whisper, ‘Help 
half way.^ Ah ! he could trust to Jim Checquers ! They 
had fought side by side in too many hot fights of late, 
to fear that he wouldn’t stand to him. Yes, that would 
make it easier. A troop of dragoons at the end of 
thirty miles would mean safety. ‘ Ah,’ he thought, with a 
smile, ‘if I haven’t, in racing parlance, spread-eagled my 
field, by that time. The Mummer is not at all the horse 
I take him to be. There will probably not be above a 
dozen fellows within hail of me by that, and if Checquers 
turns up with even a score of troopers, it would be enough. 
What a row the beggars are making already. That they’ve 
made it a regular fUe day, I think is in my favour. There 
never were a lot of Arabs together, on such an occasion, 
who did not set to work shouting, galloping their horses 
about, and generally showing off. There’s a chance that 
they’ll be watching each other more than me.’ 

However, at last the time came when Jack was politely 
informed that it behoved him to get into the saddle. 
He had saddled The Mummer some little time before, 
and now went to tighten his girths, and to cast a last 
scrutinising look over all his appointments. That done, 
he swung himself into the saddle, and proceeded leisurely 


The Race in the Desert. 


2og 

down to the starting-post, where Mohammed Sebekh, with 
a large group of the leading men of his tribe, were already 
assembled. Cheap as the Sheikh held the English horse, 
he was not going to throw away a point in the game. He 
had divested himself of his customary steel shirt and 
headpiece, and was clad in light attire. 

‘ Front de Boeuf knows something about it,^ thought Jack, 
‘and is not going to throw away a pound, if he knows it.^ 

The Sheikh motioned Jack to bring The Mummer 
alongside the beautiful little Arab that he himself was 
riding. The two horses offered a most striking contrast. 
The English, a great slashing bay, standing sixteen hands 
high, looked fit to carry his diminutive rival, who was a 
bare fourteen two. But certainly for looks the Arab had it. 
He was handsome as a picture, while The Mummer could 
only be described as a big, plain, powerful horse, whose 
good qualities were hardly visible, except to a practised eye. 

‘ The start in a long race of this description is not a 
matter of much importance,’ said Mohammed Sebekh. 
‘ Will you give the word, or shall I ? ’ 

‘You give it,’ replied Jack. 

‘ Then go I’^^excl aimed the Sheikh, and, quick on his legs 
as a cat, the little Arab shot to the front like an arrow, 
and stole something like six lengths’ start. Of no great 
importance this in a ten-mile race. Jack, too, had been 
in no hurry to get off. He knew The Mummer was a 
slow beginner, but that in due course his stride must tell, 
and therefore he followed leisurely along in the wake of 
his leader. But Mohammed was no fool ; and though, 
Arab like. He had dashed off with a tremendous spurt, 
he knew well enough that no horse that ever was foaled 
could go pretty nearly at his best for such a distance as 
lay before him to-day. Before he had gone half a mile, 
he had pulled his horse up to a hand-gallop, while The 
Mummer, who was lying some twenty lengths behind him, 
and had now settled into his stride, was doing a mere 
exercise canter. 

Jack paid very little attention to his antagonist. His eye 
was roving keenly around in all directions, to see what 
place offered him the easiest opportunity of breaking 
through the assembled Arabs. These clustered thick 
o 


^to 


Long Odds. 

round the starting which was also the winning-post ; there 
were lots of groups, too, all the way along that side of the 
course which ran obliquely to the road to Korti, and 
that he must break through them somewhere on that side, 
was essential. They ran in these relative positions for 
the next two miles, and then Jack saw when his oppor- 
tunity must come. It must be remembered that the 
Halawins were in scattered groups extending over five 
miles, consequently there were numerous and extensive 
gaps between ihese groups. The Arabs kept galloping 
about from one to another, and the groups therefore 
varied considerably in size. Sometimes they congregated 
in great force in one, while the next did not consist of 
half a dozen. As they sped on, Jack noticed that the 
group next the turning-post was very numerous, but the 
next knot to it had dwindled down to some three or four, 
most of the men who had originally constituted this latter 
having galloped across to the turning-post group to see 
the competing horses come round that post, and between 
those two Jack determined his rush should be made. 
They were a good half-mile apart, and The Mummer had 
not been called upon to gallop as yet. they entered 
upon the fifth mile. Jack began to steal up to his antagon- 
ist, and as they neared the turning-post, had got within 
two lengths of him. Mohammed became startled. He 
had thought the English horse done with, and toiling 
hopelessly along in his rear by this. He put on a 
tremendous spurt, while Jack for the first time let 
The Mummer out in earnest, and for a few strides 
forged ahead. Then he pulled his horse back again, 
as the Arabs supposed, to enable him to lose as little 
ground as possible in rounding the post. Mohammed 
came on.again with the lead, and, with the sharp Arab bit 
swung his horse round the post with marvellously little 
loss of ground. As for The Mummer, he came again 
suddenly with a wet sail, shot past the post, without 
attempting to turn it, and, to all appearance,' having over- 
powered his rider, bolted in the direction of Korti, Jack 
sitting well back in his saddle, making, as they thought, 
the most frantic efforts to stop him. 

It was some seconds before the Arabs comprel .t nded the 


The Race in the Desert. 


211 


fuse, and by that time Jack was once more leaning forward 
Jn his stirrups, and stretching away towards Korti with a 
^ead of something like half a mile. Then from many a 
throat burst forth a cry of anger that they should have been 
made such fools of, and into many a steed the rowels were 
sharply driven, as his rider started forth in pursuit of the 
mad Englishman who had so laughed at their beards. 

Away stretches The Mummer, running parallel to the 
regular route to Korti, and for the first time the 
Halavvins become cognisant of the long, swinging stride 
of an English throughbred. Vainly do they press their 
desert-born steeds in pursuit ; the English horse is leaving 
them further and further every minute, and, as those in 
the van see plainly, is going quite at his ease, and well 
within himself. As for Mohammed Sebekh, he had sped 
almost a mile in the opposite direction before the cries 
of his people made him look round for his antagonist, 
and brought to him a knowledge of what had happened, 
'rhen he pulled up, and, proving how little custom differs 
amongst nations, when you once get at human passions, 
called his followers ‘pigs, camels, and sons of burnt 
mothers ! ’ for having allowed the infidel to throw dust 
in their eyes, quite after the manner of ourselves. He 
might, in the words of a popular song of the present day, 
have been : — 

‘ Quite English, you know. Quite English, you know.’ 

But curses don’t hatch chickens, and Mohammed Se- 
bekh’s swearing at his own children did not much affect 
Jack Cuxwold, who felt The Mummer going strong under 
him, in his race for freedom without ransom. He knew 
he’d a long gallop before him, and was hurrying his horse 
not a whit ; but his heart bounded as The Mummer strode 
along, and he felt that Checquers had made no mistake 
in his pick, — that he was mounted on a fair second-class 
Queen’s Plater, in very decent condition. He was leaving 
the Halawins steadily further and further behind him, but 
Jack knew better than to suppose his pursuers were men 
to be disheartened by having the worst of it thus far. It 
was a long way to Korti. They were many, he was alone ; 
and though he might have the heels of them, he was quite 


212 


Long Odds, 

aware of the endurance of those tireless little Arab horses. 
Still onward, onward he galloped, and The Mummer never 
faltered in his stride. Jack looked back — he had put the 
best part of a mile between himself and the foremost of 
his pursuers, and saw now that they were greatly reduced 
in numbers ; still he roughly estimated that there were a 
good score sticking doggedly to his skirts. He pulled up 
at the top of a small swell in his sandy path, to give The 
Mummer a chance to catch his wind, but saw that his 
halt must be short. His relentless foes, encouraged by his 
drawing bridle, pressed forward with exulting cries still 
more hotly in pursuit He sets The Mummer going again, 
and the old horse strides away, easy as ever. Jack roughly 
reckons that he has now put a good fifteen miles between 
himself and the Wells of Howeiyat. Another ten are 
traversed without a check, and then Jack feels, with dis- 
may, that his horse begins to hang heavily on his bridle, 
— to answer with little life to his hand. He looks back ; 
in that clear sky and over those sar^dy steppes it is possible 
to see vast distances. Yes, there come the Halawins, 
not more than half a mile behind him ; but their num- 
bers have diminished slightly, and there are a bare dozen 
of them now visible on his track. He halts his horse 
once more for a few minutes, which, of course, lessens 
the space between himself and his foes. ‘ Where is 
Checquers?’ he muttered. ‘If he don’t turn up soon, 
I’m done. My horse will never last into Korti.’ 

Once more he starts, but The Mummer hangs heavily 
on his bit, and, after another four iniles have been tra- 
versed, begins to pitch in his gallop in a way that, to a 
horseman like Jack, heralds that, nurse his steed care- 
fully as he may, he has about got to the end of him. 
He hears the exulting yells of his pursuers, already regard- 
ing him as a pack of hounds might their sinking fox. He 
pulls The Mummer together, and for the first time sends 
the spurs sharply home. He will cross that sand bluff in 
front of him, and then, if there i§f no help visible, well ! he 
will distress a good horse no longer. But ere he reaches 
his goal, some thirty or forty British horsemen top the 
ridge, and Jack knows that Checquers has kept his word, 
and brought ^ help half-way! 


The Wroxeter BalL 


213 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 

THE WROXETER BALL. 

The day of the Wroxeter Ball had come at last, and Miss 
Bramton was in the highest possible spirits. That poem 
in tulle and satin is to be exhibited in all its splendour. 
The news from Egypt is excellent concerning Captain 
Cuxwold. Alec Flood has telegraphed that Jack is well 
and unhurt, though at present a prisoner in the hands 
of the Halawin Arabs ; that no doubt a heavy price 
will have to be paid for his freedom, but that he is in 
no personal danger whatever, at present. With their 
minds set so far at rest, the Ranksborow family saw no 
reason for absenting themselves from either the Wroxeter 
Ball or Races. The Countess of late had been extremely 
civil to the Bramtons. Lord Dartree had asked three 
or four men down for the ball, and Lady Ranksborow, 
with a view to doing the young ladies a good turn, had 
invited the Bramton family over to dinner, so that both 
girls felt already ensured against a dull ball. Amongst 
the visitors at Knightshayes was Jim Anson, who, unwit- 
tingly, was destined to be the cause of a mo.st awkward 
complication for the Ranksborow family. 

Luncheon over at Temple Rising, the britska came 
round to the door, and, swathed in furs and rugs, to pro- 
tect them from the biting March wind, the family started 
to drive to Wroxeter, where it had been settled that they 
should stay the night. The Ranksborows also, with their 
party, were at ‘The George,’ which was regarded as the 
leading hotel of the little town. According to annual 
custom, that hostelry was in a state of prodigious fuss 
and bustle; smart chambermaids, bedizened with gay 
ribbons, coquettish-looking lady’s-maids, and gentlemen’s 
valets, were darting up and down the passages, apparently 
without a moment to spare. Bells were ringing in all 
directions ; in the coffee-room the waiters knew no rest ; 
and if there were people at ‘ The George ’ who were taking 
their ease at their inn, there was most decidedly a 
numerous contingent who were not. In pursuance of 
a long-standing engagement, the Knightshayes party and 


214 Long Odds. 

the Bramtons had joined forces, and formed all together 
quite a large party. They had taken private sitting-rooms, 
and agreed to dine all together. On their arrival, the 
Bramtons were shown to their rooms, and the smart 
chambermaid who waited on them assured them the 
house was full to the attics ; that every hotel in the place 
was crowded ; that the town had never been known to be 
so full, and that it was expected to be the best ball and 
best day’s racing Wroxeter had ever seen. 

‘This will be great fun, Lucy !’ exclaimed Miss Bram- 
ton, as they sat sipping their tea before a blazing fire, after 
their drive. ‘ We shall be a real cheery party. Mr 
Anson and all those friends of Lord Dartree’s are nice. 
I have not had a good dance for ever so long ; and if 
you can only make up your mind to get over the loss 
of Mr Flood for one night, we ought to have a good 
time.’ 

Lucy laughed merrily as she replied, — 

“ Mr Flood and I understand each other. We are 
good friends, nothing more. You make a mistake when 
you think otherwise. Like you, I’m looking forward to 
a real good dance.’ 

But balls, like other diversions, are often fraught with 
disappointment. One can’t say how it is, but the even- 
ing we have reckoned on so eagerly, comes off all wrong. 
The room is good, the music is excellent, but somehow 
we bungled our programme ; we have been let in for 
dancing with the people we didn’t want to, and made 
our prayer too late to those for whose assent we craved. 
A friend of mine, a confirmed ball-goer, once summed up 
the situation in these words, — ‘ It’s no use without an 
object.’ I fancy he regarded a pretty hot flirtation as 
part of the programme, and that she was not there that 
evening. 

‘ I wonder whether Lord Dartree will win to-morrow ? ’ 
observed Matilda, after a slight pause. ‘ I hope so, for 
I’ve not only got lots of gloves on The Robber, and he 
has promised to put me a ten-pound note on in the ring 
before starting. However, I like Lord Dartree ; inde- 
pendently of that, I should like to see him win.’ 

‘ Do you think, Matilda, that he likes you ? ’ asked Lucy. 


The Wroxeter Ball, 215 

‘Yes, my dear,’ replied Miss Bramton, with a saucy 
smile, as she raised her dark eyes from the fire, and 
looked her sister steadily in the face ; ‘ I think he does.’ 

‘ Ah ! but well enough to marry you ? ’ said Lucy. 

‘ I can’t quite say. You might have put it more 
nicely — Do I like him well enough to say yes if he asks 
me ? Well, a sensible girl would think twice before she 
said no to the chance of being Countess of Ranksborow.’ 

‘ Well, I don’t like him,’ said Lucy emphatically. ‘ 1 
never can get over the impression that he is laughing in 
his sleeve at us all the time. You recollect his sneer at 
papa the other day. It is true, papa is terribly vulgar at 
times, but I won’t have him laughed at. If it wasn’t 
the conventional way of asking Lord Dartree to lunch, 
still he WAS asking him to lunch, and no gentleman 
would have made such a reply as he did.’ 

Miss Bramton said nothing. In her heart of hearts she 
felt sure that the choice of becoming Lady Dartree would 
be vouchsafed her. And she was not at all pleased that 
her sister should think that it was possible that nobleman 
might not be in earnest in his attentions. It is true that 
she numbered another string to her bow in Sir Kenneth 
Sandeman, and that her heart was no more involved in 
the one case than in the other. As long as she had the 
chance of becoming Lady Dartree, she had determined 
that, if possible. Sir Kenneth should not come to the 
point. 

‘Well, Lucy,’ she said at length, ‘if we mean dressing 
before dinner, it is about time we begin to see about it,’ 
and with these words Miss Bramton led the way, and the 
two sisters were soon involved in all the mysteries of the 
toilet. 

We all know them ! those dear old fiddles of the pro- 
vincial ballroom, which play the dance-music of two 
years or so past, but, for all that, contrive to put much 
more go into the tunes than ever the crack bands of the 
metropolis seemed capable of doing. Perhaps it lies in 
ourselves, — in the different and more healthy life we lead 
in the country, but men too languid to walk through a 
quadrille in London, will throw themselves into all the 
qbandoft of a country ball, and dancQ as if bitten of thq 


2I6 


Long Odds* 

Tarantula. The Wroxminster Ball, as rumour had pre- 
dicted, was an immense success. There were a good 
hundred and fifty people present, ?nd that was a gather- 
ing ver)’/:onsiderably above the average. T he combined 
party from Knightshayes and Temple Rising were the 
centre of attraction to the whole room. The Ranks- 
borows, to begin upon, were popular, and few who could 
aspire to the privilege failed to avail themselves of a turn 
with the laches Cuxwold, notoriously two of the best 
valsers in the county. Then every bc)dy was thirsting for 
news of their brother, ‘ the Honourable Jack,’ whom Bark- 
shire regarded as their hero of the Soudan, with a lurking 
suspicion that had he only been at the head of affairs, 
Khartoum might have been saved, and the desert cam- 
paign had a different ending. Then everybody wanted 
to know how The Robber w as ? Did Lord Dartree fancy 
his cdiance, and did he still intend to ride him himself? 
in whicdi case, all the young ladies felt quite sure he w ould 
win. Then the tw’o Misses B ram ton were far away the 
prettiest girls in the r(X)m ; and wLat did their father say 
about Damocles ? Their partners supposed he would win 
the Derby ; of course, they were awfully interested in it, 
etc., etc In fact. Miss Bramton was in the seventh 
heaven — belle of the ball, and the prettiest girl of the 
cracJc part)' present at the County Assembly Rooms that 
evening, and no rival to challenge her pertensions, unless 
it was her own sister. 

Miss Bramton was in the very highest possible spirits, 
and she had good right to be. She w^as conscious of 
l(X)king her b^t, and she was getting plenty both of 
dancing and admiration. Lord Dartree especially had 
engaged her for valse after valse, and Sir Kenneth 
Sandeman had found it hard work to inscribe his name 
upon her programme. She whispered to Lucy, as she 
passed on Mr Anson’s arm, in the full flush of her 
triumph, — 

‘ The best ball I ever was at ; isn’t it lovely ? ’ 

After supper, the fun became fast and furious. 
Wroxeter was one of those old-fashioned halls at whioh 
the custom of drinking healths was indulged in, and upon 
this cxxasion the health of the Countess of Ranksborow- 


The Wroxeter Ball. 


217 

as lady patroness, and of Lord Dartree, Mr Bramton, and 
Mr Berriman, as stewards of the ball and races, were duly 
honoured Lord Dartree returned thanks for his mother 
and himself in a few well-chosen words ; and then for a 
minute or two Miss Bramton thought ‘the something 
bitter’ ever dreaded had arisen in her cup, as she saw 
her father rise to reply to hb health. She knew his 
weakness, and her ears tingled in anticipation of the 
facetious speech he delighted to indulge in when soch 
an opportunity presented itself. But for once John 
Bramton refrained It may be that he was awed by the 
brevity of Lord Dartree, but at all events he returned 
thanks in the shortest possible manner. Valse followed 
valse, and galop followed galop. At last there was a 
temporary lull, and then the band burst out again into 
the rollicking air of ‘ Sir Roger de Coverley.’ 

‘Where shall 1 leave you. Miss Bramton?’ said Lord 
Dartree. ‘ 1 don’t know whether you intend to dance Sir 
Roger, but Wroxeter expects me to do my duty, and, as 
the dancing steward, I am told off to lead the romp.’ 

‘ Well, Tve promised Sir Kenneth to join in it, but I 
hope he wmt hold me to my promise. I see Lucy 
sitting there , take me across to her.’ 

The Miss Bramtons sat for some little time watching 
the turmoil of Sir Roger. Sir Kenneth had duly made 
his appearance, but Miss Bramton pleaded fatigue, and, 
after talking to them for a little, he left the two sisters to 
their own devices. Tired of the hubbub of the dance, 
Matilda at last proposed that they should change their 
places, and the two girb made their way to a cosy recess 
just off the door of the supper-room, and took possession 
of the comfortable sofa it contained. It really was a 
small room communicating with the larger one, but the 
door had been taken off and the opening draped with 
coloured muslin and evergreens. Seated there, they 
begun chatting over the events of the evening, and com- 
paring notes. They were both very pleased with their 
ball, and agreed it had been a capital ^nce. 

‘ It is getting time to withdraw,’ said Lucy. ‘ WiD they 
ever make an end of this apparently interminable Sir 
Roger?’ 


2I8 


Long Odds. 

‘ It’s no use going to bed, my dear,* replied Matilda, 
‘until they do. There can be no sleep for anybody in 
the house till the music is finished. I 'presume this is 
tlie last dance, Sir Roger is usually the end of everything.* 
‘Yes,* said Lucy, laughing; ‘especially one’s dress. 
Tired, hot, and a perfect wreck with regard to skirts, is 
the appearance one usually presents at the close of that 
reckless romp.* 

At this moment there came a rush of young men to 
the supper-room, which they entered by the ordinary 
door, and without passing through the recess in which 
the Miss Bramtons were seated. Revellers these who 
had been in the van of the fray, and had acquired a 
thirst which, as one of them exclaimed, ‘ brooked no delay 
in satisfying.* It was evident, from their conversation, 
that they were composed of the Knightshayes party, and 
Lord Dartree’s voice was prominent as he ordered the 
waiters to get champagne and tumblers. 

‘Glasses like these are no good,* he exclaimed, ‘for 
men who have borne the burden and heat of the day ; are 
they, Jim?* 

‘No,* replied Anson. ‘I think that was about the 
quickest thing in Sir Rogers ever I went. By Jove, 
Dart, you set us a cracker, from start to finish ! If you 
make running to-morrow in the way you did to-night, The 
Robber will be done crisp as biscuits long before he 
turns into the straight* 

‘ He has been at it all the evening,* ejaculated another 
of the party. ‘ He was making play, to a disgraceful 
extent, with that handsome, dark-eyed girl all the first 
part of the evening. I don’t know her name, but she and 
her sister are the two prettiest girls in the room.* 

‘Yes,* said Anson, ‘it*s getting about time you settled 
down. Dart ; you might go farther and fare worse.* 

‘ Come away,* whispered Lucy. ‘ Let us go.* 

Matilda Bramton made a gesture of dissent, and 
grasped her sister firmly by the wrist. 

‘You might indeed,* continued Anson. ‘Old Dr>^- 
goods, at Temple Rising there, could plank down a good 
bit of money with his daughter, depend upon it.* 

‘Don’t talk nonsense, Jim/ rejoined Lord Dartree, as 


A very Pretty QuarreL 2ig 

he tossed off a tumbler of champagne. ‘It is necessary 
to keep the Bramtons in good humour till Damocles 
has won the Derby. And Miss Drygoods is a very jolly 
girl to flirt with ; but when you come to marrying, that^s 
quite another pair of shoes. We Cuxwolds haven’t 
gone in for trade yet.’ 

‘Now it’s you who are talking rubbish,’ replied Jim 
Anson. ‘ The amalgamation of the aristocratic and com- 
mercial classes is one of the features, of the age in which 
we live, sir.’ 

‘Oh, get out!’ replied Lord Dartree, in the midst 
of a roar of laughter. ‘When Jim begins to lecture in 
that way, it’s a sign that the night is no longer young, 
and that the wine has flowed freely 1 ’ 

Lucy cast one glance at her sister’s face as the two 
hurried from the recess. The dark eyes were lightening 
with wrath, and Matilda’s face was crimson to the very 
roots of her hair. 

‘Insulting wretches,’ she hissed, between her teeth; 
‘ did you hear what they called us ? ’ 

‘Yes,’ rejoined Lucy, who was very pale, and whose 
mouth was set in determined fashion, ‘ I did ; but Lord 
Dartree has made one mistake, Damocles will not win 
the Derby I ’ 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A VERY PRETTY QUARREL. 

The two girls made the best of their way to their bed- 
room, and no sooner had they entered it, than Matilda 
burst into a fit of passionate sobbing. It was a miser- 
able ending to a most successful evening. Lord Dartree’s 
insulting words had stung Miss Bramton to the quick. 
Her pride was wounded, her vanity outraged ; she who 
had thought that she had this man at her feet, had now 
discovered that he was only amusing himself with her. 

‘ What does it all mean, Lucy ? ’ she cried. ‘ He should 
be a gentleman, and yet no gentleman would make such 
a brutal speech about a girl he had been dancing with.’ 

‘ I think I understand it, in part,’ said Lucy indignantly. 
*I suppose Lord Dartree and his father have backed 


^50 Lo7tg Odds. 

Damocles for the Derby, and therefore have affected an 
interest in us which in reality they only feel in the horse. 
I always told you I never could get over the feeling that 
Lord Dartree was laughing at us. After the way he 
spoke of us, we can never set foot in Knightshayes again.* 

‘ If papa did make his money in trade, Tm sure it*s 
nothing to be ashamed of.* 

‘ No, dearest,* said Lucy soothingly. ‘ You heard 
what Mr Anson said afterwards, nobody thinks anything 
of it in these days.* 

‘ Papa is trying,* moaned Miss Bramton ; ‘ I wish he 
wasn’t. I wish his talk didn*t savour quite so much of 
“ the shop ; ** but to accept his hospitality, and call him — ^ 
and Miss Matilda wept afresh at the bare recollection of 
th^ dreadful name. 

Lucy Bramton was, if anything, more indignant than 
her sister. True, they had not been intended to overhear 
Lord Dartree*s speech, but it had been addressed quite 
openly to his companions He might or might not 
have been serious in regard to his views of Matilda, but 
he had undoubtedly paid her great attention. A man had 
no right to do that, and then hold the object of such 
attention up to ridicule. He had dined continually at 
Temple Rising, dropped in to luncheon whenever it had 
happened to suit his convenience, and yet here he was 
holding up his host to the derision of his companions. 
Lucy had plenty of spirit, and knew that, in spite of her 
father’s vulgarity, they were not regarded in this light by 
their acquaintances generally. True, people might smile 
occasionally at Mr Bramton’s solecisms, but the better 
points in his character were by no means overlooked ; 
and had not Lucy herself, only a few weeks back, received 
the most convincing tribute to her natural pride and 
attractions that can be laid at any girPs feet? Had 
not a loyal and gallant gentleman asked her to marry 
him, and did not Knightshayes delight to honour Alec 
Flood? 

‘ I shall not go to the races to-morrow ! * suddenly ex- 
claimed Miss Bramton. ‘ After Lord Dartree*s insulting 
words, I couldn’t look any one of the Knightshayes men 
in the face. You must do as you like, Lucy.* 


221 


A very Pretty Quarrel. 

‘We will go home after breakfast, you, I, and mamma. 
As for papa, if he is obliged to attend the races as 
steward, he can come home by himself later on ; ’ and 
then the two girls proceeded rapidly to disrobe, and 
Matilda Bramton soon forgot her troubles in slumber. 

As for Lord Dartree, he was in blissful ignorance of the 
mischief he had done. He knew what pains the Earl and 
all the family had been at to conciliate the Bramtons, 
and, knowingly, would have been the last person in the 
world to offend them. Did not he and his father both 
stand to win heavy sums upon the victory of Damocles ? 
Was he not aware that John Bramton never betted a 
shilling, but ’ was quite the man to be furious at any 
affront offered to his daughters, and to endeavour to 
avenge such insult by any means that lay in his power. 
It would be sheer midsummer madness to offend any of 
the family ; but Lord Dartree had a wicked tongue that 
he could not always control, and was much given to 
ridiculing the weak points of his fellow-creatures. He 
had, too, when he made the gibing speech in the 
supper-room, drank a good deal of champagne, or else 
perhaps he had not been so incautious. He was now 
horrifying Anson and one or two more of his companions, 
by obstinately refusing to go to bed till he had had one 
cigar and a soda-and-brandy to top up with. 

‘It won’t do. Dart — ^it won’t do,’ said Anson. ‘How 
do you suppose that you’re to ride over three miles of 
country, with such training as this ? You’ll be blown long 
before The Robber is, — be sitting like a sack of wheat on 
the horse, and spill all our money.’ 

‘ Don’t you fuss, Jim,’ replied Lord Dartree. ‘ I’m off 
to bed as soon as I’ve finished this cigar, and shall do the 
old horse every justice, you’ll see, to-morrow.’ 

As for ‘The George,’ it never went to bed itself upon 
this annual festival. Some of its myrmidons were up 
and about all night. And there were always some festive 
spirits who haunted the smoking-room till daybreak. 

It was very well for Miss Bramton, in all the anguish 
of her outraged pride and vanity, to declare that she would 
go home and not attend the races next day. It was 
natural that Lucy should sympathise with her sister 


^22 Long Odds, 

which she did most thoroughly, and declare she would 
aid and abet her in her resolution, but when calm reflec- 
tion came with the morning, both girls recollected that 
some reason must be assigned for this sudden change of 
front, — that their very parents would expect some explana- 
tion as to the why of this hasty return to Temple Rising. 
Now Miss Bramton shrank even from telling the story of 
her mortification to her own father, and — as Lucy said — 
still less could they publish to the world the insolence of 
Lord Dartree. 

‘ There is nothing for it, Matilda, but you will have to 
“go sick,” and, of course, I shall play the dutiful sister, 
and accompany you home. There’s one thing, my dear. 
I think we had better give the same explanation to papa 
and mamma that we do to the world generally. Mamma 
might boil, but she would have the sense to hold her 
tongue ; but poor dear father — we know him so well — if he 
gets an inkling of the case, depend on it, he will have it 
out with the Ranksborows ! He loves us very dearly, 
but he is not judicious, and in his first wrath at hearing 
that his daughter has been insulted, he will be “ neither 
to hand nor to bind.” ’ 

‘ Yes!’ replied Miss Bramton; ‘that is the worst of papa. 
He is no respecter of persons ; and I’m bound to say, when 
his blood is up, it doesn’t greatly matter to him whether 
the object of his wrath is an earl or a chimney-sweep.’ 

The two girls estimated their father’s character very 
correctly. John Bramton was a good-natured man in the 
main, but, like many of these good-natured men, when he 
did lose his temper he lost it very thoroughly ; and if 
there was one point upon which he was thin-skinned, it 
was upon the subject of his daughters. He was im- 
mensely proud of them — proud of their good-looks — 
proud of their bringing-up. 

‘ My wife and I hadn’t their advantages, you see,’ he 
was wont to say. ‘ I had to be earning a living instead 
of going in for accomplishments, but my girls they’ve 
been brought up real ladies, from bonnet to slipper, and, 
considering the tidy pile I can give ’em, are fit to marry 
anyone.’ 

It was not likely that anyone would disparage the Miss 


A very Pretty Quarrel, 223 

Bramtons in their father’s presence, but John Bramton 
quite expected visitors to gratify his pride, by showing 
open admiration for the young ladies ; and the master of 
Temple Rising, cordial though he might be, never really 
took folks to his heart who had not, by words or looks, 
displayed high appreciation of his daughters. They might 
well think it better that he should not be told the real state 
of the case, but be simply informed of Matilda’s indisposi- 
tion, and consequent inability to attend Wroxeter Races. 

‘ That walls have ears,’ we’ve all heard, and of a surety 
there is much overhearing in this world of that not 
intended for us to know ; the acquirement of such 
unbidden knowledge being productive of much heart- 
burning usually, from the days of the Garden of Eden 
down to the present time. The ‘George Hotel’ was 
destined to develop into a very ‘whispering gallery,’ 
and the last people that should have arrived ‘at ‘confi- 
dences,’ seemed destined to become possessed of them. 
Mr Bramton has been duly informed by his wife of 
Matilda’s indisposition ; he fussed and fumed, said it was 
preposterous, that girls were full of whimsies, that they 
owed it to the county to put in an appearance. A great 
idea of what he owed to the county has grown up of 
late in John Bramton’s mind, but, for all that, he knew 
that opposition to his women-kind was fatal. When the 
ladies of his family had decided upon their line of con- 
duct, he was aware that no words of his would dissuade 
them from their intention. 

‘ But why is it ? ’ he asked his wife ; ‘ what is the mean- 
ing of it ? Matilda is not so ill that there’s any need to 
make a fuss about it. If she don’t feel up to going to 
the races, surely that needn’t hinder the rest of us. Let 
her keep quiet here, and then we can all go home 
together, after the day’s fun, as we settled to do.’ 

‘ No, no, John,’ replied his wife ; ‘it won’t do. We’ve 
all our reasons for going home, and go we must’ 

‘ That’s where it is,’ replied Mr Bramton. ‘ What are 
your reasons ? Such a success, too, as the gals were last 
night. Why, here’s Matilda half a countess already. I 
mean that Dartree chap’s over head and ears in love 
with her. What do you do it for ? ’ and here Mr Bramton,^ 


224 Long Odds. 

sticking his thumb in the armholes of his waistcoat, 
walked up and down the room swelling, with irritation 
and* importance, like an angry turkey-cock. ‘Yes,’ he 
continued, ‘you were all at me, niggle naggle, to push 
my way into society ; and now I've landed you all amongst 
the tip-toppers, why, you want to go home.’ 

‘Indeed, John, I think we had better.’ 

‘ And if you think so, Margaret, of course you will. 
Home 1 I’ve no patience with you. Why, you can always 
go home,’ and so saying, Mr Bramton bounced indig- 
nantly out of the room. 

The truth was, Mr Bramton’s head had been a little 
turned of late. He had made himself extremely popular 
in the county ; he had laid himself out to do so \ he had 
been liberal in the matter of subscriptions to hounds, 
races, hospitals, etc . ; he had entertained well and freely 
at Temple Rising, so that it had become the fashion to 
vote him a very good fellow, and to pronounce him not 
so much vulgar as eccentric. Then he was extremely 
proud of the success of his daughters ; and the idea that 
Matilda might some day blossom into a countess, made 
his heart swell with exultation, and ‘ Here she is,’ he 
thought irritably, ‘ throwing away her chances in this 
foolish fashion.’ Here Mr Bramton paused, and shook his 
head solemnly. ‘ Maybe she ain’t, after all,’ he muttered. 
‘ P’r’aps she thinks a little holding off like, will make him 
speak out. Women understand these things better than 
we do ; ’ and then, feeling certain that Mrs Bramton and 
his daughters would adhere to their resolution of return- 
ing home, John Bramton bustled off to secure a fly to 
take himself to the racecourse, and give orders that it 
should be freighted with a liberal luncheon. 

Mr Bramton’s arrangements were soon made, but 
happening to pass through the stable-yard, he espied his 
own carriage in course of getting ready. He resolved to 
go and say goodbye to his family before they started, 
and, re-entering the hotel, ascended the stairs for that 
purpose. As he turned the handle of the sitting-room 
door, the tones of Matilda’s voice raised in passionate 
indignation struck upon his ear. He opened the door 
softly, and paused for a moment behind a large screen, 


A very Pretty Quarrel, 225 

placed there to protect the inmates of the room from the 
draught of the door. 

‘No, mamma,’ exclaimed Miss Bramton, ‘I’ll never 
speak to any of the Ranksborows again. No girl was 
ever insulted so grossly as I was by Lord Dartree last 
night. After paying me great attention all the even- 
ing, to boast to his friends in the supper-room that 
he was only amusing himself with old Drygoods’ daughter, 
until Damocles had won the Derby.’ 

Mr Bramton’s face was a study, as he for the first 
time heard the sportive nickname which his noble friend 
had bestowed upon him. 

‘ It is too true, mamma,’ said Lucy. ‘ Lord Ranksborow 
and his son are deeply interested in the success of 
Damocles. They have only taken us up for fear we 
should part with the horse. And you will see that they 
will drop us as suddenly as they took us up, their end 
once accomplished.’ 

In this she did the Ranksborows injustice. Their 
great interest in the victory of Damocles had undoubtedly 
induced the intimacy with the Temple Rising people in 
the first place, but neither Lord Ranksborow nor any of 
his family had any intention of behaving in such vul- 
garian fashion. Lord Dartree, no doubt, was merely 
flirting with Miss Matilda, and, under the influence of 
champagne, had made a foolish braggadoccio speech in 
the supper-room, never intended to reach their ears, but 
this was the front of their offending. 

‘So that is your reason,’ said John Bramton, as he 
emerged from behind the screen. • ‘ Lord Dartree dared 
to say that of you publicly, Matilda, did he ? You have 
determined to go home, merely for that You’re wrong. 
You must take your own line, but I know you had better 
have faced it out ; but the man who puts an affront upon 
one of my girls, settles with me.’ 

‘Oh, John, John,’ exclaimed Mrs Bramton, ‘don’t do 
anything rash ! Don’t let him go, girls. He’ll go fighting, 
and get shot. Oh, oh ! what am I to do ? 

‘ Oh, papa dear, think of the scandal,’ moaned Miss 
Bramton. 

‘ Pray do keep cool, papa !’ exclaimed Lucy. 


226 


Long Odds. 

‘ Cool ! Damn it !’ cried John Bramton, ‘ whaBs come to 
the women ? What do you mean talking of being shot ? 
I never fired anything but a pop-gun in my life. Keep 
cool ! Why, damme, do you suppose I’m in a passion ? ’ 
It would have been a very allowable supposition for any- 
body who saw Mr Bramton just then, to have arrived at. 

‘ No,’ he continued. ‘ You’ve determined to go home ; 
very good, go; but when a man insults my family, I 
knov^r how to deal with him., 

‘ Oh, papa, dear, you are dreadfully excited ; promise 
us, promise us you will do nothing rash 1 ’ cried Lucy. 

‘ Pooh, pooh, child ; don’t you fret yourself. I’m not 
going punching heads, or any nonsense of that kind ; but 
I’ll give that Dartree chap a bit of my mind, before many 
hours are over, I’m determined.’ 

It was in vain that Mrs Bramton and her daughters 
tried to induce John Bramton to come home with them, 
and abandon his purpose. In vain Matilda pleaded that 
she should die of shame if the story came out, John 
Bramton was dogged, angry, and immovable in a way of 
which his family had had no former experience ; and with 
a dread sense of impending disaster, Mrs Bramton and 
her daughters drove back to Temple Rising. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

DEATH OF LORD DARTREE. 

Having seen his family depart, Mr Bramton was more 
than ever resolute to have this affair out with Lord Dar- 
tree, the Earl of Ranksborow, or, for the matter of that 
indeed, with the first of the Cuxwold family he could lay 
hands upon, sooner than not speak. He was boiling with 
indignation. He, the shrewd, sharp, business man, w^hose 
boast it was that people rarely got the best of him, had 
been socially made a downright fool of by this arrogant 
Ranksborow lot. He who had flattered himself that he 
and his were upon friendly terms with the great magnates 
of the county, had suddenly discovered that he was a 
mere cat’s-paw for their convenience, — that neither his 
wealth, sagacity, nor the good looks of his daughters 


Death of Lord Dartree. 227 

counted an iota in their eyes, — that it was as the mere 
owner of Damocles — a horse upon which the Earl and his 
son stood to win an enormous stake — that he possessed 
any value in their eyes, — that had Mr Stubber, the trainer, 
commanded entire control over the animal, he would have 
been of more importance in their sight. He chafed ; he 
raged horribly. He did not understand this accursed game 
of society. What did he want with Temple Rising, and the 
acquaintance of all these great people, who ate his dinners, 
drank his wine, pressed him to subscribe to this, that, and 
the other, tugged at his purse-strings in all directions, and 
wound up by calling him ‘ Old Drygoods ’ behind his back? 

He was a little new, you see, in the great game of 
social amenities, — not quite prepared to hear with a pleas- 
ant smile that the dear friend who had sat at his table on 
the Monday had made merry at his expense before the 
week was over. But it is so, my brothers, and ever will be. 
What does it matter ? Let them be pleasant in our houses, 
or pleasant to us in theirs, and let us reck little what theii 
opinion concerning us may be. Let us remember only 
that our pleasant acquaintances are pleasant as the sweet- 
throated songsters of the spring, but that the words of 
true friends, like the song of the nightingale, are heard 
but seldom. 

Mr Bramton’s first move was to send word to Lord 
Dartree to say that he should be glad to speak to him. 
In reply, he was informed that his Lordship had not as 
yet risen, which, although it served to further increase 
the irritation of Mr Bramton, was as nothing to the irrita- 
tion it was causing Jim Anson, and two or three others 
who had backed The Robber for the Hunt Steeplechase. 
As Anson pleasantly put it to his companions, — 

‘ WeVe in the hole, my boys. Dart is a tolerable per- 
former when he keeps straight ; his dancing all night 
wouldn’t have hurt him, but lashings of champagne and 
buckets of brandy and soda-water would settle any man’s 
wind for three miles of racing-pace across country next 
day.’ And then lamentations sadder than those of Jere- 
miah arose over the backsliding of one of the leaders of 
the people, and these ninteenth-century Gentiles hastened 
to hedge their money to the extent of their ability. 


228 


Long Odds. 

Mr Bramton, still fuming, still fussing, and by no means 
sweetening in temper, hovered about the landings, hung 
about the corridors, asked petulant questions, and glared 
with angry eyes in the direction from which that peccant 
nobleman, Lord Dartree, might be expected to emerge ; 
but, oblivious of the impending storm, my lord slept 
sweetly on, and neither the riding of The Robber nor the 
wedding of Matilda Bramton, troubled his slumbers. At 
length Mr Bramton encountered Lord Ranksborow, and, 
in default of Lord Dartree, determined to speak his mind 
to him. 

‘ I’m sorry to hear of Miss Bramton’s indisposition,’ 
said the Earl courteously. ‘ I hope it is nothing serious ; 
but I am afraid she must be Very unwell, as Mrs Bramton 
and her sister thought it necessary to accompany her 
home.’ 

‘Yes, it is serious/ replied John Bramton. ‘In the 
meantime, I have just a few words to say to you, if you’ll 
oblige me by stepping into this room for a few minutes.’ 
The Earl looked somewhat astonished, but at once com- 
plied with the request. ‘ Now, my lord,’ continued 
Bramton, as he closed the door behind him, ‘ I’ve come 
and settled down in these parts as a neighbour of yours, 
and with a wish to be neighbourly. I’m a plain man, and 
ain’t had the advantage of polish, I know, still I thought 
the two families were friendly. You and yours were 
always welcome at Temple Rising, and the best there was 
in the house was freely placed at your disposal.’ 

‘ I really don’t know what all this tends to, Mr Bram- 
ton,’ rejoined the Earl. ‘ Nobody, I am sure, has ever 
questioned the hospitality of Temple Rising.’ 

‘ I hope not — I trust not,’ replied Mr Bramton hur- 
riedly. ‘ What do you think of this, my lord? A young 
man, whom I have welcomed to my house; who knew 
that there was, so to speak, a knife and fork for him when- 
ever he chose ; who professed great admiration for my 
daughter, and friendship for all of us, turns us all into 
ridicule over the supper-table last night, — laughs at the 
idea of his attentions to Old Drygoods’ daughter — that’s 
me, my lord — being serious, and saying that he was only 
amusing himself, and keeping Old Drygoods in good 


Death of Lord Dartree. 229 

humour until Damocles had won the Derby. I ask, what 
would you say to that ? I ask you,’ continued Bramton, 
raising his voice, ‘ what do you say to that, Lord Ranks- 
borow ? ’ 

A horrible suspicion that Dartree had made a fool of 
himself shot across the Earl’s mind, but it was with the 
utmost unmoved courtesy that he replied, — 

‘ I cannot but think that you h we been misinformed, 
Mr Bramton. You are surely not speaking from your own 
personal knowledge. This must be the malicious report 
of some woman, who is annoyed at the success your 
daughters were at the ball.’ 

‘ It is no malicious report, my lord ! ’ cried Bramton 
passionately. ‘ But you’re right ; the story was told me by 
a woman, and that woman w^as my own daughter, who 
unknowingly found herself and her father held up as an 
object of ridicule by Lord Dartree for the amusement of 
his friends.’ 

‘You must be mistaken, Mr Bramton,’ replied the 
Earl. ‘ The allusion was probably to somebody else, and 
Miss Bramton, in her natural indignation at conceiving 
these remarks meant for herself, has probably very much 
exaggerated what actually was said.’ The Earl might 
endeavour to gloss over what had passed as best he 
might, but in reality he felt no doubt that Dartree had 
what is termed ‘put his foot in it.’ ‘The confounded 
fool,’ he muttered, ‘knowing what we have at stake, to 
dream of breathing anything but admiration about the 
Bramtons.’ 

‘ Oh, no, my lord, I’ve made no mistake about it. 
Your son has grossly insulted my daughter, and no man 
does that without my having satisfaction for it.’ 

‘ It is rather obsolete,’ rejoined the Earl, with consider- 
able hauteur, ‘ but I will take upon myself to assure you 
that Dartree will meet your wishes in any way upon that 
point.’ 

‘ Pooh ! pooh ! my lord, now you’re talking pistols. 
You don’t suppose I’m going to make a cock pheasant 
of myself and get up to be shot at, do you ? No, my 
lord, when a swell like you puts an insult on a man like 
me, we make him pay for it, — pay for it, d’ye hear ? ’ And 


230 Long Odds, 

with the last words John Bramton’s voice rose almost to 
a scream. 

‘ You are exciting yourself very needlessly, Mr Bramton,’ 
returned the Earl sternly ; ‘ and are better aware than I 
am of what grounds you have to go upon. Since you prefer 
to take it in that way, allow me to point out that the 
matter now becomes one for our respective solicitors to 
determine.’ 

‘You don’t understand me,’ retorted Bramton. ‘Do 
you think I’d drag my girl through all the publicity of a 
law court, even supposing your son was engaged to her 
— which I don’t at all hint that he is.’ 

‘Excuse me, Mr Bramton,’ said tbe Earl haughtily; 
‘don’t you think we had better come to the point at 
once. What is it you want Dartree to do ? ’ 

‘ I told you you shall pay for it, and you shall,’ re- 
joined John Bramton, almost fiercely. ‘ Damocles shall 
not start for the Derby. And I know what that means 
to both you and your son.’ 

The Earl simply shrugged his shoulders, as he re- 
marked, — 

‘That is a point, Mr Bramton, upon which you will, 
of course, exercise your own discretion. Bear in mind 
what I told you. Do it, and you will find yourself the 
most unpopular man in England ; ’ and with this curt ob- 
servation Lord Ranksborow strolled leisurely out of the 
apartment. 

‘ They’re grit, they are, these swells, and no mistake,’ 
murmured John Bramton, as he looked vindictively after 
the Earl’s retreating figure. ‘That’s as good, pretty 
nearly, as a hundred thousand pounds out of his pocket, 
and yet he don’t make so much fuss about it as I’ve 
seen a fellow make over a losing deal at penny Van 
John.’ 

Mr Bramton started for the races in gloomy dudgeon. 
He had meant to have gone there in his own carriage, 
with posters, and kept a sort of open house to all comers 
during the afternoon. He had looked forward to their all 
enjoying it — to his daughters being surrounded with 
admirers, — to having a real afternoon’s fun, and a jolly 
gossip over everything, as, the races done with, they 


Death of Lord Dartree. 2 3 1 

drove back to Temple Rising ; and now all was changed. 
He was going there alone, the insult to his daughter was 
rankling in his breast, and his quarrel with the Ranks- 
borows was not cheering to look back upon. He had 
liked his noble neighbours, and, though repenting him 
not one syllable of what he had said, was sorry to find 
they were so utterly false. ‘ The most unpopular man 
in England,’ he muttered to himself. ‘ Damme, to 
avenge an insult to a gal of mine, I’d stand being boy- 
cotted by the whole kingdom.’ 

‘Well, Dart, how do you feel?’ inquired Jim Anson, 
as his lordship, after weighing in, emerged from the room 
at the bottom of the Stewards’ stand. ‘ Do you feel like 
landing the chips ? ’ 

‘ I feel chippy enough,’ replied Dartree, ‘ though not 
quite in that sense. You were right, Jim, I had just one 
cigar too many last night.’ 

‘A little too much of everything,’ replied Anson drily. 
‘Never mind, old fellow; you pull yourself together, and 
if you can only hold The Robber for the first mile, you’ll 
be there or thereabouts at the finish.’ 

‘He does pull,’ replied Dartree; ‘but he won’t get 
away with me, though he’s not a pleasant horse to ride 
till he has settled down.’ 

John Bramton was destined to have a very uncom- 
fortable time of it that afternoon. Lots of his acquaint- 
ance gathered, as may be easily supposed, round the 
well-known, hospitable carriage, where a cheery word, a 
snack, or a glass of sherry, were certain to be forthcoming. 
That these friends should manifest much surprise at 
the absence of Mrs and the Miss Bramtons, was only 
natural ; and — this was gall and wormwood to John Bramton 
— his visitors were all full of The Robber. ‘ A good man 
and a good horse. Lord Dartree rides much better than 
most of those engaged against him.’ So often was this 
reiterated, that John Bramton, a man who never bet from 
sheer temper, could not resist laying short odds against 
The Robber, to a mild extent. It was the mount, remem- 
ber, of the man who had insulted his daughter, and, let 
the result of the race be what it might, John Bramton 
most fervently hoped that The Robber might be hand- 


232 Long Odds 

somely beaten. But the saddling-bell rings out, and the 
horses for the open Hunt Steeplechase pace slowly 
past the stand. None, perhaps, look better than The 
Robber. A low, lengthy brown horse, trained evidently 
to perfection, and whose rider is attired in the very acme 
of a gentleman jockey’s get-up ; sits his horse, too, like a 
workman ; and, as is well known in the countryside. Lord 
Dartree is bad to beat when hounds are running in 
earnest. As he brings his horse down a good swinging 
breather in the preliminary, more than one fair denizen 
of the stand offers to back him recklessly for gloves, 
challenges which those cavaliers in their vicinity have no 
option but to accept. The horses cluster round the 
starting-post, and although for a few minutes The Robber 
shows a little temper, that difficulty is speedily overcome, 
and the lot are despatched in an excellent start. Before 
they had gone a few hundred yards, it is evident that 
The Robber is fighting for his head, but so far his owner 
holds him in a vice, and compels him to display a decent 
amount of sobriety at his fences. But Jim Anson and 
other experts, whose race-glasses are riveted upon him, 
can see clearly that the horse is both fractious and pulling 
terribly. 

‘ By Gad ! ’ exclaimed Jim, ‘ I trust Dart will come well 
out of it ; but that devil will require all the man’s muscles 
to hold to-day ; and if he does get away, well. Dart may 
write to his friends.’ 

Fence after fence is passed, but it is evident that upon 
more than one occasion The Robber, in his impetuosity, 
has gone wondrous near making a mistake. Still, pull as 
he may, as yet his owner holds him in a grip of iron ; but 
Dartree is painfully conscious that he can maintain the 
strain but little longer. If the pulling is not out of his 
horse, he knows very well that the counjter resistance 
is pretty well out of his arms. Let The Robber but pull 
in this way for another half-mile, and, as Dartree grimly 
ejaculates to himself, he must just *gang his ain gait, and 
will probably lose the race, and give me a rattling 
cropper.’ ‘ Steady, you brute, steady,’ he continues, but, 
despite all he could do. The Robber rushed a stake and 
binder, and sent the splinters flying in all directions. 


Something Wrong with Damocles. 233 

The horse was near upon his knees that time, and his 
rider fondly hoped it had settled him ; but he only shook 
his head sullenly, and tore at his bit more savagely than 
before. 

‘ I’m clean beat,’ muttered Lord Dartree, ‘and he must 
have this in his own fashion.’ 

It was a low rail and ditch, and the horse took it in his 
stride. The strain upon his jaws once relaxed, his rider 
found it impossible to get another pull at him ; the horse 
raced along like a mad thing. The next fence was a big 
bank, with a ditch on either side. Vainly did Lord 
Dartree try to steady him at it ; it was useless ; the horse 
was quite out of hand, and, tearing down at the fence as 
hard as he could lay legs to the ground, endeavoured to 
compass it in one jump. He hit the crest of the bank 
heavily, and turning a complete somersault in the oppo- 
site field, fell heavily upon his rider. 

A low ejaculation of horror ran through the stand, 
chiefly on the part of the ladies. The men were too 
used to croppers in the hunting-field to attach much 
importance to a fall, bad though it might be to look upon ; 
but another minute, and the men looked grave, and 
asked each other in bated whispers what had happened, 
for both horse and man laid motionless where they had 
fallen. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

SOMETHING WRONG WITH DAMOCLES. 

Not a sign, not a move — man and horse lay there so still 
they might have been turned to stone, and an awestruck 
whisper runs through the stand that both are resolved 
once more to the clay from which they sprung. Already 
the mysterious crowd that springs up from nobody knows 
whither, as the sequence of a bad accident, has gathered 
round the prostrate forms of man and horse. There is 
little thought now of the race ; all eyes are strained to 
the spot where the tragedy has taken place, which, 
though some little distance off, is still distinctly visible 
from the stand. Another instant, and Jim Anson dashes 
from the lawn, exchanges a few words with one of the 


234 Long Odds, 

‘whips’ employed in keeping the course, which results in 
that official jumping off his horse and giving Anson a leg 
up on it. I'he latter gallops off in the direction of the 
accident, and is speedily seen to arrive there. A little 
more, and the spectators can make out that a group of 
men, headed by Anson, are making their way slowly 
towards the stand. Everybody by this time knows what 
has happened. Even from the white lips of the Countess 
comes the pitiful moan — ‘ Badly hurt. Ah, yes, crushed, 
frightfully mangled, but not dead^ for Heaven’s sake, say 
not dead !’ But the fiat has gone forth. Lord Dartree has 
met his doom, under the very eyes of his mother and 
sisters, and The Robber has broken his own neck and 
his master’s. 

That an occurrence like this should cast a gloom over 
the day’s sport, may be easily supposed. Several 
families left the course, out of respect for Lord and 
Lady Ranksborow. Many a head was bared as the 
Knightshayes carriage passed slowly off the course, 
bearing with it the sore-stricken Countess and her dead ; 
but the set, stern face of the grim Earl took no heed of 
such marks of reverence, rightly interpreting them as 
homage due solely to the Destroyer. Amongst all the 
spectators who had witnessed Lord Dartree’s tragical end, 
none had perhaps been more shocked than Mr Bramton. 
The dead man had insulted him in his most vulnerable 
point. He had come there hoping to see him defeated ; 
he who had never bet had even laid a few trifling wagers 
against The Robber, and had looked forward to the 
winning of such bets with no little exultation. Not an 
hour ago he was filled with rage against Lord Dartree. 
He hated him ; he thought only of how to avenge him- 
self on him — and now there was no Lord Dartree. 
Prompt though he might be to resent any affront offered 
to his daughters, John Bramton could not be termed a 
vindictive man. Besides, few men carry their enmity 
beyond the grave. John Bramton half wished now that 
he had not been in such a hurry to speak his mind. 
Only a few weeks ago messages of sympathy and con- 
dolence had been constantly sent over from T('mple 
Rising to Knightshayes, on account of the younger son ; 


Something Wrong with Damocles. 235 

and now that this inexorable affliction had befallen the 
elder, he did not see how it was possible, after his inter- 
view with the Earl that morning, to tender such neigh- 
bourly offices. 

Now, when a man feels that he has allowed his temper 
to get the better of him, and done that which in his 
cooler moments he is conscious is neither fair nor just, 
there is only one way to stifle regret, and that is, to nurse 
his wrath, to be constantly lashing himself into a rage 
over the subject, whatever it may be. Mr Bramton is 
quite aware that he has threatened to punish Lord 
Ranksborow for his son^s actions. He knows it is pre- 
posterous to hold the Earl responsible for Lord Dartree’s 
words. The latter was a man about thirty, and therefore 
legally and morally liable for what his hand might do or 
his tongue might say. That Lord Dartree’s offence had 
been very gross there was no denying, but still his father 
was not to blame for it. Upon the whole, Mr Bramton 
was sorry that he had not had a little more patience, and 
waited till he could have had speech with Lord Dartree 
himself. Had he done that, little as it was possible to 
foresee it, there would have been probably no reason to 
give utterance to such words at all. 

Mr Bramton, on. his way home to Temple Rising, 
marvels much as to what his wife and daughters will say 
to the news he brings them, and reflects somewhat rue- 
fully that the death of Lord Dartree will probably lead 
to a reaction in favour of the Knightshayes people, and 
that it is more than possible that the ladies of his house- 
hold will be unanimous in condemning him for his ill- 
timed interference, and once more impress upon his mind 
how very much better it would be if he would leave all 
social questions for them to deal with. Yet, for all that, 
Mr Bramton faltered not a whit as yet in his resolve that 
Damocles should not run for the Derby. And as we 
know, in her hot wrath, Lucy had decidedly come to the 
same conclusion, it must be admitted that Lord Ranks- 
borow's great coup looked at present very unlikely to 
come off. 

When John Bramton reached home, he found his 
family all agog to know what had taken place between 


236 Long Odds. 

him and Lord Dartree ; and when he briefly nanated the 
tragedy of the day, a great silence fell upon them all. It 
was so utterly unexpected, that they knew not what to 
think. It seemed as if their anger of the previous night, 
and the whole scene in the supper-room, were as things 
far off ; in fact, as Lucy said, — ‘ It seemed months ago 
since they had happened.* 

The death of Lord Dartree operated in a way which 
even his father, the most interested person in the affair, 
had failed to realise upon the occasion. Commonplace, 
prosaic enough, but, nevertheless, when, deeply indebted, 
we shuffle off this mortal coil, it is to our nearest relatives 
that our creditors look for payment. Legally responsible 
they may not be, but when there are means, it is seldom 
the moral obligation is disputed ; and short, indeed, was 
the time permitted to elapse before the main part of his 
dead son*s liabilities were respectfully submitted to Lord 
Ranksborow. The Earl made no complaint : he was of 
that kind that meet all such engagements to the very best 
of their ability. He had no thought of repudiating the re- 
sponsibility of his son*s debts for a moment. He muttered 
grimly, — ‘ Dipped deeper, my poor Dart, than even I ever 
dreamed of, and yet I guessed that you were burning 
both ends of the candle as gaily as I did mine in my own 
youth. It*s a case of Knightshayes to the hammer, and, 
I suppose, a dull, dreary life in some continental town 
for the remainder of my existence. There was just one 
chance left us, and poor dear Dart*s foolish tongue has 
effectually extinguished that. I know how young men, 
after supper, will talk of these things ; . but it*s bad form 
to begin with, and, knowing the stake we had on it, poor 
Dart ought to have been more careful.* 

In the meantime, Mr Stubber is perfectly aghast at the 
contents of a letter he has received from his new em- 
ployer. It is seldom Mr Bramton deigns to write con- 
cerning the horses trained in his name, but the note 
which has thrown Mr Stubber into such a state of per- 
turbation, while expressing much pleasure at hearing from 
his — Stubber*s — weekly bulletin that the horses were in 
excellent health, and doing well, further says that he — 
Johp Bramton — has pretty well made up his mind to part 


Something Wrong with Damocles, 237 

with Damocles, providing he gets an eligible offer, rather 
regretting that he has not already done so, and saying 
that, fortunate as that colt has hitherto been, yet the 
vicissitudes of a race-horse^s career are such as would 
justify no non-racing man in not taking the earliest op- 
portunity of disposing of such property. 

To say that Mr Stubber, in sporting metaphor, possi- 
tively ‘ valsed round ^ upon the receipt of this intelli- 
gence, barely describes his state. Here he was within 
three weeks of the Two Thousand, with the first real 
Derby crack it had ever been his fortune to train gallop- 
ing strong as a lion, and now he was told that the colt 
would not be wanted; or, at all events, if he was, it 
would be from other hands than his. It was heartbreak- 
ing. He had watched over Damocles as if he had been 
a child of his own, — ^given much more care to, and been 
much more anxious about him, indeed, than he had ever 
been about his own ruddy, rosy-cheeked, boisterous pro- 
geny. In his hands, the colt had won every race he 
had ever started for. He had looked forward to being 
crowned this spring with the Isthmian wreath, and now 
some other was to benefit by the fruits of all his trouble 
and experience. 

‘ It’s heartbreaking,’ he murmured. ‘ IVe run straight 
through all my life, but, dash me ! if this ain’t enough 
to justify a chap in sending away an ’oss with a bucket 
of ‘‘ something ” and water inside him that would effec- 
tually stop his galloping for the next six weeks. Oh, 
Lord ! if poor Richard Bramton had only lived ; but this 
shopkeeping chap — as they tell me he is — well, he knows 
nothing about sport, and, as far as he’s concerned, the 
’oss is of no more account than the goods in his ware’us.’ 

Mr Stubber, in his anxiety, wired a message to Mr 
Skinner, requesting that gentleman to come down and 
see him at once. Mr Skinner promptly complied with 
the request, and during his brief visit occurred an inci- 
dent that had the effect of, for a time, revolutionising the 
betting on the Derby 

Although it was the first week in April, the fierce nor’- 
easter, which had menaced both men and horses during 
the past month, searching out most bitterly all those deli- 


238 Lofig Odds. 

cate of chest, or deficient of lung-power, had not yet 
relaxed its grip of the country one whit. If the morn- 
ings were bright, they were biting ; and when, a little 
before eight, on the morning after Mr Skinner’s arrival, 
the trainer entered the stables, with a view to accompany- 
ing his charges up on to the Heath, he was met by his 
head lad, who exclaimed, — 

‘ This is a rum start, sir, and I’m blessed if I know 
what to make of it ! It looks very much to me as if 
there had been an attempt to try some little hanky-panky 
business with Damocles.’ 

‘ Why, what’s the matter ? ’ exclaimed the trainer 
breathlessly. 

‘ Well, when I got down this morning, I found the 
window of his box wide open. 

‘ And it was a sharp frost, too, last night ! ’ ejaculated 
Mr Stubber. ‘ Does the horse look any the worse ? ’ 

‘Not that I can see, sir; nor are there any signs that 
anybody passed through the window.’ 

Mr Stubber said nothing more, but walked straight to 
the box, and carefully examined the colt. No, as far as 
he could see, the horse was in perfect health. He ex- 
amined the box narrowly, but if any pernicious food had 
been thrown into the box through the window, there was 
no trace of it left. There were no marks on the sill or 
sides of the window to indicate the passage of anybody 
through it ; and, though quite big enough for anyone of 
diminutive stature to effect an entrance by, yet it was not 
so easy but what he would probably have left scratches 
on the paint ; but no, the only two facts that could be 
ascertained were that the window had been found open 
in the morning, and that the horse was apparently none 
the worse for it. Mr Stubber, in his bewilderment, at 
once rushed off to consult his guest. He had an im- 
mense opinion of Skinner’s astuteness. The commis- 
sioner heard the trainer’s story without a single comment, 
and then merely said, ‘ Let me look at the horse and the 
box.’ 

By the time they came out, the whole string of horses, 
with their respective boys on their backs, were pacing 
round the yard in Indian file, awaiting the mandate to go 


Something Wrong with Damocles. 239 

on to the Heath. Mr Skinner eyed the horse narrowly, 
and remarking, ‘ There doesn’t look anything the matter 
with him, certainly; now, let’s see the box.’ But Mr 
Skinner, though he inspected it very closely, could make 
no more out of it than the trainer had done. For a 
minute or two, after he had finished, he was apparently 
lost in thought, and then said, ‘ Now, Stubber, I’ll tell 
you what I should do if I were in your place. First of 
all, put Damocles back in his box. He’s not in the Two 
Thousand, so the loss of a day’s work won’t matter to 
him. If he has caught cold, or swallowed anything 
likely to disagree with him, you will know all about it 
by to-morrow morning at latest. It’s possible that win- 
dow might have been an accident ; but even: if it was 
blown in, the bolts must have been withdrawn from the 
inside. It’s a curious coincidence, but those bolts have 
evidently been recently oiled. Come into the house ; I 
want to speak to you for a moment.’ Following the com- 
missioner’s advice, the trainer gave orders that Damocles 
should be unsaddled and replaced in his box, and then 
followed Mr Skinner into the house. ‘ Now,’ continued 
the commissioner, as they found themselves once more 
in the parlour, ‘ those bolts were drawn by one of your 
own people, with what object we don’t know, but it’s 
not likely for any good. I’m off to town as soon as 
we’ve had some breakfast. Damocles not being on the 
Heath will be known in town, you bet, before I get there. 
I’m curious to see what Mr Noel and his pals do on re- 
ceipt of the news. If they had anything to do with the 
opening of that window, they will argue, from Damocles 
not appearing at exercise this morning, that, whatever 
their object might be, it has been effected. We sha’n’t 
know for four-and-twenty hours. The horse may have a 
drugged apple inside him, for aught we know, at this very 
moment.’ 

‘ You don’t think they’ve poisoned him ? ’ asked the 
trainer. 

‘ No; but they may have drugged him, for mere market 
purposes, — ^just made him unable to do his work for a day 
or two. I shall learn more in town than I should here. 
Let me have a wire to-night, and another to-morrow morn- 


240 Long Odds. 

ing, just to say how the horse is. And now, if the trap's 
ready to drive me to the station, Til be off ; ' and in a 
few minutes Mr Skinner was speeding on his way to 
catch the London train. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

ZELN LETTER. 

*All right, Jack; it has come off/ was Mr Checquers* 
greeting ; ‘ but there wasn't much to spare. The Mummer 
is pretty well done.' 

‘ Quite,' said Jack, as he jumped off his horse. ‘ I'd 
just made up my mind that it was all up, when you 
appeared.' 

As for the Halawins, they had promptly pulled up when 
catching sight of the English dragoons. They would 
have attacked as dauntlessly as any of their countrymen, 
and risked their lives for the recovery of their prisoner, 
had there been the slightest probability of success ; but 
with blown horses to charge an enemy of thrice their 
numbers, and of the fighting capacities which they knew 
the English possessed, would have been sheer madness. 
They retired sullenly, and as Checquers' sole object was 
to rescue Jack Cuxwold, he made no attempt to interfere 
with them. 

‘ What, Alec Flood ! ' suddenly exclaimed Jack. ‘ That 
you should turn up where least expected is all in ac- 
cordance with your usual habits, but I did think that 
you were in England.' 

‘ So I was,' replied Flood, ‘ and only came out to Egypt 
on your account ; however, you have done for yourself 
what I came to do for you, and are a free man again.' 

‘Yes, thanks to Checquers and the “help half way," it 
has come off.' And here Jack and his subaltern exchanged 
a hearty hand-grip. 

No sooner had Jack shaken hands, and received the 
congratulations of some of his old comrades, than the 
word was given to march, and the party was soon leisurely 
pursuing its road to Korti. 

‘ It was awfully good of you to come out, Alec,' said 
Cuxwold ; ‘ though how the deuce you learnt what had 


Zelnis Letter. 


241 

become of me, beats me altogether. Why, they didn’t 
know here at Korti till only a few days ago.’ 

‘ You were reported “ missing ” a good while back, and 
I started from Knightshayes pretty nearly as soon as I 
heard it. As to your whereabouts, I picked that up at 
Cairo. You recollect the gambling house tout whom we 
met there the night Dick Brampton was killed ? ’ 

‘ Ah ! of course. He came across my friends that I have 
just left at the Wells of Bayuda, and saw that I was a 
prisoner in the hands of the Halawins. The scoundrel ! 
It was thanks to him that their sheikh named so heavy 
a sum for my ransom.’ 

‘It was rather stiff,’ replied Flood; ‘but that would 
account for it. That fellow had picked up a lot of in- 
formation about you at Cairo. He had made out that 
you were the son of an English “my lord,” and, as you 
know, fellows of his type always imagine an English “ my 
lord ” is rolling in riches.’ 

‘ And I presume,’ said Cuxwold, ‘ he acquainted you 
with my whereabouts for a consideration.’ 

‘ Ah, yes,’ said Flood, laughing ; ‘ he sold his know- 
ledge. He has had, I fancy, as many trades as names, 
and, I should say, was always prepared to sell the interests 
of anyone connected with him, the moment he was bid 
money for it.’ 

‘ And how did you leave them all at Knightshayes ? ’ 

‘ They were all very well when I left, but in a deuce of a 
state about you, naturally. All that was known about you 
was that you were “missing” — a very ominous word to have 
opposite your name, in such fighting as you’ve had lately.’ 

‘ Well, old fellow, it’s all over now ; but it was a case of 
touch and go. I was lost in the desert, had come to the 
end of my water, was dying of thirst, and insensible, when 
the Halawins picked me up. I never suffered such agony 
in my life, I think, and I fancy a very few hours more 
would have settled me.’ 

‘Well, Jack, my boy!’ exclaimed the irrepressible 
Checquers, as he ranged up alongside his captain, ‘what 
does that old robber, Mohammed Sebekh, think of 
English horses versus Arabs, now? I should like to 
have seen the match very much.’ 

Q 


2^2 Long Odds. 

‘ I’m sure I wish you had,’ rejoined Cuxwold. ‘ I’d give 
a good deal to hear how the Sheikh took the “ sell ” I 
played upon him. It was a ten-mile match — five out and 
five in ; and when he slipped round the turning-post, I 
came straight on, and the consequence was we were both 
tearing away from each other in opposite directions. I 
daresay we were a mile apart before he awoke to the trick 
that had been played upon him.’ 

‘ Ah ! And then, after the manner of humanity, I should 
be afraid he swore fluently,’ remarked Checquers. ‘ How- 
ever, the whole game is played out here. We were too 
late to save Gordon, and, as far as we can make out, 
there’s nobody else left to save. The Arabs seem to 
have finished off all the Egyptian garrisons, and we are 
simply clearing out of Korti as quick as we can do. Can’t 
imagine anybody wanting the Soudan myself, more espe- 
cially when its present possessors are disposed to fight for 
it as they have done.’ 

‘Yes,’ rejoined Flood; ‘we’ve made a pretty hopeless 
muddle of the whole business from first to last ; ’ and then 
the conversation turned on the doings of the West Bark- 
shire, and Jack was made acquainted with how Dartree 
had got The Robber in training for the Wroxeter Hunt 
Steeplechase, little thinking how tragically that race was 
destined to end for his luckless brother. And then Jack 
asked if Flood had ever come across that pretty Miss 
Bramton ; he was, of course, aware that they had bought 
Temple Rising. Did his own people know anything of 
them ? 

‘ Know anything of them,’ replied Flood, laughing. 
‘ Fancy your noble father not knowing a man within a 
few miles of his house who owned the first favourite for 
the Derby. No, joking apart, your people see a good 
bit of the Bramtons. A strong flavour of the shop lingers 
about old Bramton, but he is hospitable as an Arab.’ 

‘ Oh ! come now, Alec, none of your chaff ; I’ve just 
had experience of their hospitality ! ’ 

‘ Well,’ replied the other, laughing, ‘ I don’t mean that 
exactly. Old Bramton will give you of the best, and you 
need be under no fear that he’ll send in a bill. As for 
the daughters, they are as pretty, ladylike girls as need 


Zelne^s Letter. 


243 

be. Dartree is always philandering about the elder girl. 
I don’t suppose he’s in earnest, but he might do worse, 
for those girls, I should think, will come into a lot of 
money some day.’ 

The conversation here dropped, for, to tell the truth, 
the thought of Zelnfe shot across Jack’s brain, and he felt 
ashamed to evince any interest in another so imme- 
diately after parting with the girl who had saved his life and 
given him her love. And then he recollected her letter ; 
he was free to read it now. But, no ; he would wait till 
he was alone. He had an instinctive feeling that it would 
be better there should be no eye to watch his face when 
he perused that missive. He felt that he should read it 
with bitter pangs of regret that he had so ill requited her 
for the gift of life that she had restored to him. True, it 
had been hardly his fault : he could scarcely have helped 
it ; but, nevertheless, the fact remained that he had stolen 
his preserver’s love, and had had no such love to give 
her in return. As for Che.cquers, he was in the highest 
spirits ; he not only was extremely elated at having con- 
tributed to the successful escape of his dearest friend and 
captain, but he was also endowed with a keen sense of 
humour ; and the more he thought of the dignified Sheikh 
— and Mohammed Sebekh had impressed the graceless 
Checquers rather strongly in that particular — “finishing 
artistically ” whilst his antagonist was scudding away in an 
opposite direction, the more uncontrollable became that 
young gentleman’s peals of laughter. 

‘ I can see him now ! ’ he cried. ‘ All these Easterns 
ride with deuced short stirrups, and get their hands up 
and their noses down, in moments of excitement. I’ve 
not the slighest doubt he indulged in demoniacal whoops 
— they always do. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! what that dig- 
nified chieftain’s face must have been like, when he sud- 
denly discovered that his adversary had taken a different 
view of the winning-post, must have been a sight for 
Homeric laughter. I say, Jack,’ he continued, ‘I’ve 
never told you what you’ve got to pay for The Mummer. 
Ponsonby set five hundred on him, but, when he heard 
what he was wanted for, said if he pulled through and you 
returned him sound in wind and limb, there was nothing 


244 Long Odds. 

to pay. He was only too glad to have helped a friend 
out of a scrape.’ 

‘Very good of him,’ replied Cuxwold; ‘it shall be as 
he likes. I’ll either write him a cheque, or he can take 
him back.’ 

‘ Pooh ! ’ replied Checquers, laughing. ‘ Why, it’s a 
couple of hundred pounds on his price. A horse that 
has polished off the best blood in the Soudan, and left 
the lightning steeds of the Halawins as if they were a 
parcel of hacks, has, so to speak, improved his record, 
ril tell you what, old man,’ continued Checquers, with a 
wink, ‘ we might send word to Mohammed Sebekh, that 
though he lost five thousand on the match, he can have 
The Mummer at the same figure, if he likes ; ’ and once 
more Mr Checquers burst into peals of laughter. 

‘All right, my boy,’ retorted Jack dryly. ‘ Perhaps you 
would like to take the message — rather that you took it 
than me, you know. I have some idea that you would 
not find Mohammed good to jest with on the subject.’ 

‘Perhaps not, perhaps not,’ said Mr Checquers de- 
murely. ‘They are devils to fight, these Arabs, but 
they’ve no idea of fun.’ 

With this and similar light badinage was the way into 
Korti beguiled. The ride was nothing to the entire 
party, with two exceptions — Jack and his horse. The 
Mummer w^as very leg-weary before they reached the 
lines, and the ride and the excitement had told a bit on 
even Jack Cuxwold’s vigorous frame. Once arrived, he 
not only had to report himself to the officer commanding 
in chief, and explain the mystery, of the missing de- 
spatches, but further to receive the congratulations of lots 
of old friends. One way and the other, it was late before 
Jack found himself alone in the tent allotted to him, and 
sat down to smoke a final pipe and read Zelnb’s letter. 

‘When you open up this,’ it ran, ‘you will be far away, 
and we shall have said good-bye for ever ! Well, it is 
best so — men cannot love like women. With us it is 
everything ; with you it is only a part of your life. We 
should have had to part soon : as well now as a little 
later. What you are going to do I don’t know exactly, 
but I know every turn of your countenance, and can read 


ZelnSs Letter, 


245 

what is written there. I feel that this race is a mere pre- 
text, and that you are about to endeavour to trick my 
father in some way. If I gave but a hint that you 
dreamt of escaping, it would be impossible ; but I could 
not betray you if I would. When you read this, the risk 
you run will be over ; and you do run some risk, for the 
Halawins are not wont to stay their hands when their 
blood is up, nor is my father a man to be mocked in the 
face of his tribe. But you are strong and you are brave, 
and I feel you will succeed. 1 found you, and I loved 
you from the first. It was my Kismet. I shall look 
back upon it as a sweet dream all my life. No, I do 
not regret it I would rather have lived this brief de- 
lirium than have never known what it was to have really 
loved. Farewell ! May Allah bless and prosper you; 
and, in the years to come, spare a thought now and again 
for ^ZELNfe.' 

There was a queer gurgle in Jack’s pipe as he finished, 
and the tobacco seemed all to have gone the wrong way. 
He thought sorrowfully of what a pretty girl she was, and 
how the probabilities were that he should never set eyes 
on her again. Better indeed he should not, as he was 
forced to admit; nothing but misery could come of it 
to Zeln^. Poor girl ! it was a bad find for her when she 
came across him in the desert; she would have done 
better to have left him to perish. 

Although Jack Cuxwold naturally takes much blame 
to himself about the winning of Zelnfe’s heart, I think 
that, after all, he was no such very great sinner in the 
whole affair. It was by no means the first time that the 
prisoner had found favour in the eyes of his jailer’s 
daughter, and that the captive in his turn had proved 
captor. It is very natural. Throw a young man and a 
young woman together, with much idle time on their 
hands, and a love tale is sure to come of it. But when 
the man is a good-looking dragoon, and the maiden has 
the hot, passionate blood of the East in her veins, the 
fire has met the maize, and a speedy conflagration is the 
result. It was some consolation to Jack Cuxwold, as he 
threw himself on his bed, to know that he had done the 
very best thing possible under the circumstances, namely. 


246 Long Odds, 

that he had ran away from a great temptation; and, as 
Alec Flood said to him, when years after he heard the 
story, ‘Yes, Jack, you might have done worse. You ran 
away from a great temptation; you might have ran away 
with it.^ 


CHAPTER XXXVIIL 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

That the fighting was all over in the Soudan was clear 
as daylight, at all events for the present. With the death \ 
of Gordon, the fall of Khartoum, the massacre of the last 
Egyptian garrison, our sole reasons for being in the 
Soudan came to an end. There was nothing left for us 
but to make moan for our dead, and to count up the bill 
which our vacillating conduct in those parts had cost us. 
Unavailing though the work had been, it had been tho- 
roughly done, and now there was nought left the desert 
column but to make its way back to Lower Egypt as 
quick as might be. 

The news of Jack Cuxwold’s escape from captivity had 
been telegraphed to Knightshayes, with the welcome in- 
telligence that no ransom had been required, and the 
Lancer himself was thinking, after such a spell of active 
service, whether he might not take advantage of the pre- 
sent lull in affairs, and apply for leave to go home to 
England. His mind is speedily made up on that point. 

He and Flood have once more got down to Cairo, and 
are located at Shepheard^s Hotel, when a telegram is 
placed in Jack’s hands, which, with the exclamation of 
‘ Good God, how terrible ! ’ he hands across to Alec. 

‘ Come home at once,’ it said. ‘ Much wanted. Dartree 
killed by a fall from his horse. Come quickly. — Anson.’ 

‘ It’ll half kill your mother. Jack,’ was Flood’s brief 
comment. ‘ She fretted her heart well nigh out about 
you. This will be a terrible shock to her. Pull yourself 
together, old man, and run off and see about leave at 
once. They are sure to make no trouble about that, I 
suppose. I’ll pay the bill, take passages, and see our 
traps packed. If we look sharp, we shall just catch the 
next steamer.’ 


Homeward Bound. 247 

Under the circumstances, Jack Cuxwold had no diffi- 
culty in obtaining three months^ leave, and twenty-four 
hours later saw him and Flood on their way to England. 
They had cabled to Lord Ranksborow before starting, so 
their arrival at Knightshayes could be calculated within 
a day or two. The news was kept no secret, and in due 
time became known at Temple Rising. Although all 
communication between the two houses had ceased, it 
was not to be supposed that the Bramtons were not still 
deeply interested in the great sorrow of their neighbours. 
Mr Bramton, although he had hardened his heart and 
said that such an insult as the dead man’s speech was 
not to be forgiven, and could not be passed over, still 
kept his lips closed with regard to his rupture with the 
Ranksborows, and the fact of the quarrel between the 
two families was even unsuspected in the neighbourhood 
generally. The Ranksborow family were naturally not 
seen in public at present, and therefore there was nothing 
to draw people’s attention to the sudden cessation of the 
intimacy between themselves and the Bramtons. On one 
thing Mr Bramton and his daughter Lucy were thoroughly 
in accord ; they would have no more to do with races or 
racing. Damocles and Lucifer should both go as soon 
as purchasers could be found for them. 

Lucy heard the news of Flood and the Honourable 
Captain Cuxwold being on their way to England, with 
mingled feelings of pain and pleasure. Her pulses beat 
fast at the idea of meeting Jack again, and then she 
thought of how alike their destinies had been. Each had 
come home from Cairo at brief notice, in consequence of 
the awfully sudden death of a near and dear relation. 
Would he remember her ? She sympathised with him in 
his trouble now, as he had sympathised with her then. 
How kind he had been. How hard he had striven to 
save her from all such worry and annoyance as lay in his 
power; and then the thought flashed across her, that 
between them now there was a great gulf fixed. No, she 
should never even see him. He was bound to side with 
his family ; and after that cruel speech of Lord Dartree’s, 
it was impossible for themselves and the Ranksborows to 
ever again exchange kindly greetings. Lord Dartreel 


248 Long Odds, 

Why he was Lord Dartrec now. And then Lucy burst 
into a flood of tears. ‘Oh why/ she moaned, ‘did Uncle 
Dick leave me these dreadful horses. If it hadn’t been 
for that, all this would never have happened. People 
would have known us as we are, and not sought our 
acquaintance simply because we owned the favourite for 
the Derby.’ Then she wondered whether Mr Flood 
would come and see her, so intimate as he was with all 
the Knightshayes family, he would be sure to side with 
them. Besides, staying there as he would be, he could 
not very well call at Temple Rising, after what had hap- 
pened. No, she should never meet Jack Cuxwold again. 
She was sorry for that. She would have liked to have 
thanked him properly for all his kindness during that 
time at Cairo, a twelvemonth ago. And then the blood 
dyed her cheeks as she muttered to herself, ‘ You little 
humbug, you know no man ever interested you nearly as 
much as Jack Cuxwold!’ And as she murmured his 
name, her cheeks took even a guiltier tinge. 

To Miss Bramton the whole business had been a great 
shock. The blow to her pride and vanity had been, in 
the first instance, unmistakably severe. Always with a 
disposition to give herself airs. Miss Bramton had of late 
established herself on a pedestal of her own creating, 
from which she looked patronisingly down upon her 
sisters who were less favoured by nature and fortune. 
She had rocked herself into the belief that half the 
peerage would be at her feet, if she chose to hold up her 
finger, and the awaking from this dream of self-adulation 
had been both rude and abrupt. Then, again, the tragic 
ending of Lord Dartree, so suddenly coming on the top 
of it, had been a severe blow to her nerves. She had not 
been in love with him, but she had liked him — ay, liked 
him so well as to have made up her mind to marry him. 
Until overhearing that fatal speech in the supper- room. 
Miss Bramton had looked upon that as a mere matter of 
time. She was not altogether unjustified in regarding 
such a thing as likely. She knew she was an heiress ; she 
knew that the Earl of Ranksborow was an embarrassed 
man, and the amalgamation of coronets with commerce 
she knew was often found a fitting solution of such diffi- 


Homeward Bound. 249 

culties. But at present she took a much humbler view 
of her beauty, wealth, and accomplishments. In these 
days of her humiliation, Miss Bramton considerably 
abated her pretensions, and was far less chary of the 
smiles that she bestowed on Sir Kenneth Sandeman. 
That gentleman, although not very demonstrative, was 
very genuinely in earnest. A passionate lover he could 
not be called. Perhaps a more cool, calculating man 
never essayed to get married. He was the sort of man 
who was certain to speak to the father in the first place ; 
and that he had not as yet interviewed Mr Bramton on 
the subject, was due to two causes. In the first place, he 
had learnt that Miss Lucy had acquired an extensive 
heritage from her uncle, which was hers already in her 
own right, in addition to what she might eventually 
expect to inherit from her father. To a man regarding 
matrimony from Sir Kenneth’s point of view, this natur- 
ally made Lucy a more eligible parti than her sister, and 
it was not until he had convinced himself that he had no 
chance with Lucy, and this — in the outrageous pride that 
he regarded his position as a Scottish baronet — took 
some time for him to arrive at, that he sat down in 
regular form to pay his addresses to Miss Bramton ; 
secondly. Lord Dartree had appeared on the scene, and 
Matilda had welcomed his attentions so favourably that 
it had made Sir Kenneth pause. Much as he thought of 
his own status in the world, he was not in the least blind 
to the superior advantages Lord Dartree could confer. 
The Earl of Ranksborow might be a needy peer, but 
then he was simply a needy baronet. As regarded per- 
sonal advantages. Sir Kenneth was by no means disposed 
to underrate his own. He was a tall, good-looking man, 
about forty — the age of all others that Sir Kenneth, in his 
phlegmatic nature, deemed the fittest for a man to marry. 
To say that he considered himself ‘ a most superior per- 
son,’ is hardly necessary — men of his stamp always do : 
an idea not to be got out of their heads by any amount of 
demonstration to the contrary — but he was far too much 
a man of the world not to admit that though that would 
be the view of any sensible woman, yet women were not 
all sensible, and he had known them prefer the greener 


250 Long Odds. 

wood, with its light and frivolous shoots, to the more 
seasoned tree, and its more sombre foliage. But now 
this latter impediment had been removed from his path, 
Sir Kenneth had resolved to speak up as soon as he 
decently could do ; and as Lord Dartree had been really 
nothing to Miss Bramton but an admirer, there was no 
reason he should delay his explanation beyond a few 
weeks. 

Lord Ranksborow had laid his first-born in his grave, 
and now sat at Knightshayes brooding over the fire, 
smoking sullenly, thinking of the ruin hanging over him, 
and awaiting the arrival of the sole son left to him. Till 
the awful catastrophe at Wroxeter, he had no idea of how 
fond he was of Dartree. They had had so many wrangles 
— quarrels they could not be called — over financial 
matters, that he had latterly taught himself to believe 
that he and ‘ poor Dart ’ were good friends and nothing 
more. The dead man’s cynical, self-contained nature 
had naturally contributed much to this belief. It is 
astonishing how often that mask of cynicism covers a 
shy and sensitive nature ; and for a kindly action, or help 
in time of need, look to the most cynical of your acquaint- 
ance that you wot of. I don’t mean to say that the 
deceased Lord Dartree was quite of that type, but, for all 
that, he was a better-hearted man than the world generally 
gave him credit for, that brutal speech in the Wroxeter 
supper-room being duly taken into account. As Flood 
had foreseen, to the Countess and her daughters the 
shock had been terrible. Jack might be the favourite 
brother — and Heaven only knows how a few weeks back 
they had sorrowed for him — but the heir of the house 
had of late been sojourning under the family roof-tree ; 
and had he not gone forth full of health and spirits, 
exulting in doing battle under the old racing banner of 
his people, and perished in the fray ? 

That Mr Bramton is resolute in his intention of not 
running Damocles for the Derby, the Earl now enter- 
tains no doubt. The betting at Tattersall’s is quite 
sufficient to tell him that \ the whilom favourite for the 
great race now figuring at twenty to one, while, to I.ord 
Ranksborow’s astonishment, Lucifer occupies a prom in- 


Homeward ]Bound. 2 5 i 

ent place in the quotations. Still the fluctuations in the 
market are at the present moment a puzzle to most 
racing men, as well as to the Earl. The sporting papers 
announce variously that Damocles has met with an 
accident — that he is suffering from that scourge of the 
training stable, influenza, differing much in the ailments 
they assign to him. On one point only do they concur, 
that for the last two mornings he has been absent from 
exercise, and that the operations in the money market 
indicate that Lucifer is likely to take the place of his 
stable companion. The Earl hardly knows what to 
think as he reads these varied reports. At first he made 
no doubt but that John Bramton had carried out his 
threat, and had either made arrangements for the sale of 
the horse, or announced publicly that he would not be 
sent to Epsom. But now he began to wonder whether 
accident might not have taken the whole matter out of 
Bramton’s hands, and the colt have fallen a victim to 
some one of the many vicissitudes of training. As to 
the market, it puzzled the most astute turf speculators. 
Damocles went up and down like the Funds in a panic, 
— was knocked about indeed like a very shuttlecock. No 
sooner was he driven to 20 to i than Mr Noel and 
some of the leading men of the ring, not given to throw 
their money away, stepped in and commenced backing 
him, with the result of rapidly bringing him back to 
about half that price, and yet but slightly shaking the 
stability of his stable companion. 

One sporting article indeed spoke contemptuously of 
him as a ‘ book horse,’ — that is to say, a horse whose name 
has been introduced into the betting for mere gambling 
purposes, and to serve bookmakers ; one probably never 
even intended to take actual part in the »ace. Merrily 
the game went on, and yet even those taking part in 
it, and having, as they thought, special knowledge of 
their own concerning Damocles, were not altogether at 
their ease about it. Mr Noel, for instance, knows that 
his design has been accomplished, insomuch as some- 
thing has happened to the horse which has had the 
desired effect of shaking his status in the market ; but 
then he does not know, nor can Mr Napper succeed in 


2 $2 Long Odds, 

discovering for him, whether Damocles is seriously affected 
or not The boy who had been bribed to draw the bolts 
of the window, had been promptly removed from the 
charge of the colt. Mr Stubber assigned no reason, but 
gave him another horse to take care of. Mr Skinner, on 
the other hand, knows perfectly well that the horse is all 
right as far as health is concerned, but he is further aware 
that Mr Bramton has made up his mind to part with him. 
In fact, both these shrewd practitioners, Mr Noel and Mr 
Skinner, feel by no means certain whether those who back 
Damocles, or those who lay against him for the big race, 
will find they have burnt their fingers by the end of May. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

AT KNIGHTSHAYES ONCE MORE. 

Down the Mediterranean drives the Su7?iatra^ making so 
good a passage that even at Malta they find no letters 
awaiting them, and only a brief telegraphic message de- 
scribing the catastrophe that had befallen them. Three 
or four lines describe how Lord Dartree’s horse seemed 
to get the better of him in the Wroxeter Steeplechase, 
and how, at a stiff fence, horse and man fell never to rise 
again. Death must have been instantaneous, as neither 
The Robber nor his rider ever moved more. This tele- 
gram is not from Knightshayes, but is in the regular 
Reuter’s tissue received at Malta. 

‘ It’s but grim consolation,’ said Alec Flood ; ‘ still, 
such as it is, you have it. Poor Dartree seems to have 
been spared all suffering.’ 

‘Yes,’ replied Jack ; ‘not even in the Soudan could he 
have found a speedier or more painless death.’ 

Jack meditated upon a good many things on his home- 
ward journey. He was honestly and most sincerely 
sorry for the loss of his brother, but he naturally could 
not shut his eyes to the difference that it made in his 
own position. Before this, he had been scrambling along 
as a captain of Lancers, with an allowance of four or five 
hundred a year besides his pay. Knightshayes was never 
likely to be his, nor did he know very much of the finan- 
cial embarrassments of his father — a needy man he knew 


At Knightshayes once more. 2 j3 

he was, with a faculty for spending money, only to be 
out-Heroded by his eldest son. What those two had 
done to make ducks and drakes of the property, 
he did not know, but he had a dim foreboding that it 
was awfully encumbered. There was no mercenary feel- 
ing in all this ; he was honestly fond of the place, and 
was quite as much distressed about the possibility of its 
going to the hammer, after the manner of Temple Rising, 
when he was only Jack Cuxwold, as he is now that he is 
Lord Dartree, and its heir. But there is one thing which 
is very different. Now, he may be in a position possibly 
to avert it; at all events, he could claim to look into 
things, and endeavour to assist the Earl to stave off any 
such disaster as that 

On they drive through the dark blue waters till the 
Rock looms rugged and grim before them. ‘ They roll 
through the Gut of Gibraltar,’ past Cape St Vincent, and 
then stand out across the boisterous Bay. That angry 
piece of water happens to be in good humour, and they 
run across it with a fair wind on their quarter. 

‘ You say the Bramtons are very well received in Bark- 
shire ? ’ said Jack, one evening as he and Flood were pacing 
the deck, enjoying a last cigar before they turned in. 

‘Very,’ replied Flood. ‘ He is a little queer in his lan- 
guage, as I told you, but he is a wealthy, hospitable man, 
and his daughters are very pretty, lady-like girls ; he is a 
shrewd, sharp, useful man too in all matters of business, 
full of “go ” and energy. By the way, poor Dartree used 
to flirt rather heavily with the eldest girl. Jim Anson 
used always to chaff him, and tell him he had better go 
in seriously for the business; that it was good goods; 
that some of these days the Miss Bramtons would come 
into a pot of money between them.’ 

And then the thought shot simultaneously through both 
men’s minds, although neither of them gave utterance to 
it Jack could not help the thought, if it would have been 
a good thing for poor Dart to have married one of those 
sisters, now I stand in his place, it would be an equally 
good thing for me, to say nothing of my being already 
half in love vdth the Miss Bramton I met in Cairo. 

Jack Cuxwold had no intention of marrying for money, 


2 54 Odds. 

but he was pretty certain, from what he knew of the 
Earl’s affairs, he most distinctly could not marry without 
it. It behoved him to marry, in order that there might 
be a continuity of the direct line of Cuxwolds, and that 
such marriage must be accompanied by money, the exi- 
gencies of the estate made compulsory. 

As for Alec Flood, he knew that there was no chance 
for himself. He had a strong suspicion that Lucy was 
already half in love with Jack Cuxwold, and with a rare 
abnegnation of self, he thought that if the dearest friend 
he had and the one girl he had ever cared about showed 
an inclination to come together, he would sooner assist 
than thwart them. Such self-sacrifice in love affairs is 
not in accordance with human nature, but it must be 
borne in mind that Alec Flood’s is no such heroic immo- 
lation all the same, as he had already convinced himself 
that his own chance was hopeless. 

* Then again,’ said Flood, after a long pause, ‘ Bark- 
shire is rather proud of having the owner of the first 
favourite for the Derby amongst her children ; and though, 
as poor Dart used to say, “John Bramton doesn’t know 
a race-horse from a kangaroo,” yet still he is the owner 
of Damocles, and I sui)pose the success of that horse 
will make an immense difference to your father.’ 

‘Yes, I believe he stands to win something colossal 
on it.’ 

‘ Dartree told me himself that he had backed it to win 
him twenty thousand pounds, but the Earl has plunged 
much more heavily than that,’ continued Flood. 

‘ Well, he stood very firm at the top of the tree the 
last betting I saw,’ said Jack Cuxwold musingly. 

He was thinking, perhaps a great coup of this kind 
might redeem the broad lands of Knightshayes. 

The bay is crossed at last, and th^e Sumatra steams 
up channel, passes the Isle of Wight, rounds the South 
Foreland, and lays her head steadily for the Thames. A 
little more and Flood and Cuxwold have bestowed them- 
selves and their traps in the Gravesend Railway, and are 
being whirled away to London. At one of the stations 
they temporarily paused at, a boy walks down the train, 
exclaiming in a shrill voice, — 


At Knightshayes once more. 255 

^ Papers, papers ; here ye are, morning papers/ 

‘Give me a Telegraphy cried Jack. 

The boy handed him the journal, and the train whirls 
on. 

Jack opens his paper, and in another few minutes 
exclaimed, — ‘ By Jove ! this looks fishy for the governor’s 
coupy and, so saying, he hands the paper across to Flood, 
who, under the head of ‘ Latest betting at Tattersall’s,’ 
reads the ominous words, ‘ 20 to i Damocles offered.' 

They sped rapidly through town. The ever-useful 
telegraph had given notice of their coming, and the 
carriage was waiting for them at the little station, about 
two miles from Knightshayes, which the company had 
made principally to propitiate the Earl of Ranksborow. 
What a rush there was, on the part of the women, to wel- 
come Jack. How they alternately kissed and cried over 
him. It was not so long, remember, that they had pictured 
him lying in his bloody grave 'midst the desert sands, and 
the Countess’s tears might well flow as she thanked God 
that one, at all events, of her sons had been spared to 
her. For weeks she had mourned for her youngest boy, 
nor dared trust herself to hope, even when told that, 
until positive intelligence of his death reached them, she 
might do so. Then no sooner was she assured of his 
safety, than she went out to one of the revels of the 
county, and carried heme her eldest born dead. Flood 
was right. The second shock on the top of the first had 
sorely stricken her, and Alec was grieved to see how 
broken she looked to what she had been when he had 
parted with her a few weeks back. Still there was a 
flush on her face to-night, and a light in her eyes, that no 
one had seen since Jack’s name had figured in the list of 
‘missing.' Had she not got her boy home again? And 
would she not make him promise, before many days were 
over, to go back to soldiering and to Egypt no more. 

That had been debated in the family councils immedi- 
ately after Dartree's death. Jack had done his turn of 
hard fighting ; there was a cessation of all operations in 
the Soudan, if not for good, at all events for the present ; 
and, as their only son, it had been determined that Jack 
tnust at once assume his position of heir-apparent. 


256 Long Odds. 

Leaving Jack to talk with his mother and sisters, Flood 
made his way to his own room. It wanted a good hour 
to the dinner-time yet, and, sitting down in an arm-chair 
in front of the fire, he was thinking sadly of how very 
pale and worn Lady Ranksborow looked, when there was 
a tap at the door, which was followed by the entrance of 
the Earl. 

‘ I couldn’t help coming up for a few minutes to tell 
you, my dear Alec, how very much we all feel indebted 
to you. Staunch we knew you were, but how tender and 
true, I don’t think even we guessed.’ 

‘You’re making much of little. Jack managed the 
whole thing himself ; and all I did was to throw away 
two hundred pounds in finding out where he was.’ 

‘ Throw it away I ’ exclaimed Lord Ranksborow. ‘ No 
two hundred pounds was ever better laid out in this 
world than that. If we hadn’t received that first tele- 
gram of yours, and so known that Jack was compara- 
tively safe, before Dartree’s terrible accident, I think the 
Countess would have gone clean out of her mind. It 
was the one thing that seemed to rouse her from her 
stu|)or, the impressing upon her that if her eldest son 
had been*taken, the younger had been restored to her.’ 

‘ She looks dreadfully changed,’ replied Alec. ‘ I knew, 
the minute I got Anson’s message, that it would be an 
awful shock to her ; but we must hope that, now she has 
got Jack here at home and before her eyes again, she 
will begin to get over it’ 

The Earl made no reply, but wrung Alec’s hand silently, 
and then left the room. 

To say that they were a cheerful party that night at 
Knightshayes would be incorrect The shadow of their 
great loss was still over the house, but there was undoubt- 
edly far more conversation than had been heard there 
since the night before the Wroxeter ball. The young 
ladies were very curious about their brother’s adven- 
tures in the Soudan, and questioned him incessantly. 
And Jack really had a wondrous tale to narrate. The 
Countess said little, but both she and Lord Ranksborow 
listened with breathless interest to Jack’s story of the des- 
perate fighting down at Metammeh, — to his account of that 


At Knightshayes once more. 257 

lonely desert ride, — how he was utterly lost in that endless 
sea of sand, and lay down at last to die under the shadow 
of a rock,— ^ow he was rescued by the Halawin Arabs. 
And very humorous v^s Jack in his description of the 
Arabian Front de Boeuf. But when he told the story of 
his match with Mohammed Sebekh, which ended in his 
escape, the Earl fairly laughed outright, and even a faint 
smile flitted across the Countesses face. *More than once 
in the smoking-room that evening did the Earl revert to 
Jack^s match with M6hammed Sebekh. 

‘ Of course, I don’t know what weights you rode, but I 
suppose you had a lot in hand.’ 

‘ Any amount,’ said Jack. ‘ As for weights, I don’t sup- 
pose there was very much difference between us. He 
was as near my height as may be, and I couldn’t have 
had more than a few pounds the worst of it. With his 
handy Arab, he would have got thei)est of me round the 
turning-post, but, even if he had made a quarter of a mile 
out of that, I should have caught him long before he 
reached home.’ 

‘ Ah ! I wish you could have ridden it out,’ remarked 
the Earl. 

‘With five thousand depending upon my beating 
the Halawins from there to Korti, I couldn’t afford any 
experiments,’ rejoined Jack, laughing. ‘By the way, 
father, I’m afraid there is something wrong with your 
own prospects, isn’t there ? ’ 

‘Yes,’ replied the Earl. ‘I stand to win an immense 
stake on Damocles, and no one can say his chance looks 
rosy now.’ 

‘ Wliat’s the matter,’ inquired his son curtly. ‘ In- 
fluenza, hit his leg, or what?’ 

‘ What has happened I can’t exactly arrive at,’ replied 
Lord Ranksborow, ‘ and, what is more, nobody seems able 
to explain. A week ago, and I thought some casualty had 
happened to him, but his trainer assures me there is nothing 
wrong with him. Skinner says the same, and that he can- 
not understand the meaning of all the hostility to him.’ 

‘What does his owner say about it? ’ inquired Jack. 

‘ I am unfortunately not on terms with Mr Bramton at 
present, and therefore it is impossible for me to ask hiim’ 


258 Long Odds, 

* Not on terms with the Bramtons ! * exclaimed Flood ; 

' why, you were the best of friends when I left ; what on 
earth has happened ? * 

‘ ril tell you the whole story,* returned the Earl. ‘ I 
think it will explain to you both what has happened to 
Damocles. It seems that at the end of the Wroxeter ball 
poor Dartree and two or three of his friends got together 
in the supper-room, and had another bottle or two of 
champagne. They began chaffing him about his flirtation 
with Miss Bramton, and Dartree — who, I fancy, had drank 
a little more wine than was prudent — repudiated the idea, 
said that he had no serious intentions, 1 ut that Miss 
Drygoods “did very well to amuse himself with.” Un- 
fortunately this was overheard by the Miss Bramtons. 
That it made the young ladies very angry, I need scarcely 
say. It was a stupid observation, and in very bad taste. 
They, I suppose, told their father, and he was furious. 
He came to me the next morning, and declared he would 
have satisfaction for such an insult. I told him that 
although the days for that sort of thing were gone by, 
I could assure him that Dartree would be perfectly will- 
ing to meet him on that point. Blunder the first on my 
part. Then he screamed that that w^asn’t what he 
meant, — that he would make me pay for it. Thinking he 
meant that he had grounds to go on for a breach of 
promise against Dartree, I said that was a matter best 
left to our solicitors. Blunder the second on my part,* 
said the Earl, whilst a low laugh burst from Flood’s 
mouth ; ‘then, frantic with passion, he let the cat out of 
the bag, — said that he knew I stood to win an enormous 
stake on Damocles, and that the colt should not start for 
the Derby. I presume he has told some of his friends 
so, and that from them the information has reached the 
Ring. What do you think, Alec?* 

‘ It is a bad business,* replied Flood, ‘and it*s not much 
use thinking over it any more, at all events to-night 
John Bramton is wonderfully fond and proud of his 
daughters, and such an unlucky speech as that would be 
difficult to gloss over. Time to be off to bed, isn’t it?* 
And with that the trio shook hands and took up tlicir 
bedroom candlesticks. 


Tom Robbins grows Garrulous. 


2S9 


CHAPTER X*L. 

TOM ROBBINS GROWS GARRULOUS. 

The circumstance now attracting considerable atten- 
tion in the London betting world is the extraordinary 
duel about Damocles waged between Messrs Noel and 
Skinner. No sooner did the colt go very badly in the 
betting market than Mr Skinner would come in to the 
rescue and offer to back it so vigorously that the layers 
drew in their horns. But no sooner did Damocles take 
an upward tendency in the market, than nobody seemed 
so inclined to lay against the colt as Mr Skinner. The 
tactics of Noel and his confederates seemed just the 
reverse of this. It was their persistent betting against 
Damocles that drove the colt back in the market, and 
threatened to drive him to outside odds. It was Mr 
Skinner’s support that rescued him from that fatality, and 
gave him once more an upward tendency. Then Mr 
Noel and his confederates tried to back the horse, and 
were immediately confronted by Mr Skinner, then, 
apparently, resolved to lay freely. The result, of course, 
of this game of see-saw was that neither party was doing 
much in the way of business. Mr Noel succeeded in his 
object, but, with all that, thanks to the irrepressible 
Skinner, he could neither back him nor lay against him 
satisfactorily. No sooner had he got the horse to the 
price he wanted, than Mr Skinner stepped in, and began 
to appropriate the long odds, while no sooner had the 
horse, in consequence, ascended some points in the 
betting, than Mr Skinner persistently laid against him. 
Neither party could benefit themselves much by these 
transactions, as the sum they backed him to win one day 
they laid against him the next. There was an antipathy 
between the two men. Mr Noel had more than once 
interfered with Skinner’s working of a commission, and 
the latter wordiy was now only paying him off in his own 
coin. He knew of what had happened at Newmarket, 
— how the window of the box of Damocles had been de- 
signedly opened. It was clear, to a practised hand like 
himself, that Noel desired to back that colt for the Derby, 


26 o Long Odds. 

He did not exactly know why, — he could not be quite sure 
that Noel was connected with that open window, which 
had driven Damocles from his pride of place in the market 
in the first instance, but back Damocles to any extent 
Mr Skinner determined his antagonist should not, and 
the result of all the fencing between these past masters 
was that, in spite of the horse being apparently driven to 
an outside price, it was quite impossible, at even half 
his nominal quotation, to back him to any extent. 
Mr Noel was horribly disgusted at the result of all his 
clever manoeuvring. He cursed his adversary by all the 
oaths in his vocabulary, and, when thwarted, he was much 
gifted in powers of malediction. As for Skinner, he 
simply persistently blocked his antagonist’s game, saying 
to himself he must show his hand at last. Stubber, in the 
meantime, goes about with a face as long as if his pet 
charge had met with the fate that the market indicated. 
It is no use the horse-watchers at Newmarket report- 
ing that Damocles is going well and strong, the general 
public have taken fright, and show no disposition to 
accept any price about him ; indeed, if it was not for the 
support of Skinner, and a few of his brethren, having much 
confidence in the commissioner’s shrewdness, Noel would 
have the game entirely in his own hands* But there is 
another man who is infinitely surprised at the state of 
affairs. Mr Bramton twelve months ago would have as 
soon thought of reading the ‘sporting intelligence’ in 
the daily papers as studying Milton or Shakespeare. Now 
he glances at it pretty regularly, and is much puzzled at 
the extraordinary fluctuation of Damocles in the market. 
He certainly has written to Stubber to say that he thinks 
he shall sell the colt at the first favourable opportunity, 
but he deems, and very fairly, that the trainer would not 
publish this intention to the world. He has told Lord 
Ranksborow, in his wrath, also pretty much the same 
thing, but he still can’t believe that such confidences as 
these could affect the price list of the turf. He did not 
comprehend how in these days a racing man’s intentions 
with regard to his horses, even if whispered, are flashed 
through the land. Still, in this case, it was not so ; the 
down tall of Damocles was due to the machinations of 


Tom Robbins grows Garrulotis. 261 

Noel, and his inscrutable vacillations in the betting were 
owing to the singular antagonism going on between that 
gentleman and Skinner. 

Before he had been at home a couple of days, Jack 
Cuxwold had a long talk with his father as to the actual 
condition of the property, and found his worst anticipa- 
tions realised. The Earl told him frankly that the en- 
cumbrances were such that, unless a large sum was raised 
to meet them, foreclosure on the bulk of the mortgages 
on the estate would become pretty well a certainty in the 
autumn. ‘ Dartree and I,^ he continued, ‘had along talk 
over it, and had finally settled that unless something 
turned up to save us, we must cut the entail, and sell 
quite half the estate. - It would probably enable us to 
save Knightshayes and all the land immediately sur- 
rounding. It is a terrible thing, Jack, to think that you 
should eventually succeed to such a shrunken kingdom, 
but your grandfather dipped it a bit, I a good deal 
more, and poor Dart didn’t mend matters ; however, it’s 
no good crying over spilt milk.’ 

In this the noble Earl was most assuredly right, more 
especially when the milk has been spilt at somebody 
else’s expense. 

Then Jack took counsel with Flood, and talked matters 
over with him. 

‘It’s worse even than I thought, Alec. There’s not 
only all the encumbrances on the property, but Dartree 
has left a stiffish crop of debts, which have got to be paid 
somehow. It grieves me bitterly to think of the old place 
going out of the family. Even if we succeed in saving 
Knightshayes, the lands left to us will be very limited.’ 

‘ It’s a thousand pities your father has quarrelled with 
John Bramton.’ 

‘Yes,’ replied Jack ; ‘ next month might have put things 
straight for us ; but I suppose there’s no chance of that 
breach being healed ? ’ 

‘ I am afraid not. Bramton is a man who can stand 
a good-humoured laugh at his own peculiarities. But 
Dartree, you see, hit him upon his most sensitive point — 
his daughters. He is extremely proud of those two girls, 
and he has a right to be. To ridicule them would be to 


262 Long Odds. 

incur all his enmity; and I don’t know but Bramton 
gives me the idea of a man who could be pretty relent- 
less in his wrath. 

‘ Ah, well ! I suppose it’s no use thinking anything 
more about it. Those things very rarely come oft’, 
when there’s nothing else can save you. Otherwise, 
looking over the returns of last year’s racing, as I 
was doing this morning in the governor’s den, it does 
look as if, fit and well, nothing could beat Damocles at 
Epsom.’ 

‘I’m not much of a judge,’ rejoined Flood, ‘but he 
certainly won last year at Newmarket very easily.’ 

‘ Poor Dart ! He was always the same. Chaff with 
him always turned into sarcasm.’ 

The conversation here dropped ; and although Alec 
Flood turned the whole business anxiously over in his 
brain, he could not see how such a quarrel as this was to 
be healed. That there is no worse man to have connec- 
tion with in business or other designs than a coward with a 
weakness for the wine-cup, the great Mr Noel was shortly 
destined to discover. A pretty good judge of human 
nature, he made very little mistake about choosing his 
own instruments, but he could not occasionally depend 
upon his subordinates acting with equal discretion. His 
nephew, Mr Napper, for instance, was a man he could 
thoroughly trust — keen, sharp, and unscrupulous, and one 
who, in a witness-box, would defy cross-examination, with 
eyes and ears ever on the alert, Mr Noel could hardly 
have selected anyone more suited to keep him informed 
of what was doing at Newmarket than his nephew ; but 
if, later on, it should prove necessary to frighten Mr 
Bramton into starting Damocles, then Tom Robbins 
would have to be put forward as prepared to claim 
Richard Bramton’s property, because the conditions of 
the will had not been complied with. Mr Napper had 
already expressed his opinion that there was no real case, 
and that there was no chance of success unless Mr Bram- 
ton was a weak-minded, nervous man. Unfortunately, 
Mr Napper thought it expedient to point out to John 
Robbins that if this rumour that Damocles was not going 
to start should prove tiue, it would be worth his (Rob- 


Tom Robbing grows Garrulous^ 263 

bins) while to threaten Mr Bramton with an action at law 
for the recovery of the property. 

‘Kot a bit of use your going into Court, you know, 
Tom; but it’s just possible you might wring a bit of 
money out of him by way of compromise.' 

Mr Napper had thought it expedient to prepare Tom 
Robbins for the part he might have to play. He ought 
to have known better ; he might have known that a vain- 
glorious braggart like Robbins would be certain to let the 
cat out of the bag the first time his tongue was loosed 
by drink, and that was not likely to be very long in hap- 
pening. Sure enough, a few days afterwards, Mr Rob- 
bins, after his third tumbler of ‘ hot Scotch,’ might have 
been heard holding forth in the bar-parlour of a very 
second-rate hostelry at Newmarket : — 

‘ Damocles,'! tell you,’ he says. ‘ Don’t you believe in 
anything else; there’s nothing the matter with Damocles; 
he’ll start, and win the Derby right enough, you take my 
word for it. It isn’t what old Bramton likes — he’s got 
to do it, mind you. He ! pooh ! he’s only the nominal 
owner of those horses. There’s a deal cleverer chaps 
than him pulling the strings.’ 

‘ Who are they, Tom ? tell us 1 ’ exclaimed one of his 
convives. 

‘No, no, my beauty,' rejoined Tom, with drunken 
gravity; ‘you don’t draw me. There’s secrets in all 
stables. It wouldn’t astonish you to know who was the 
real owner of Damocles. Oh no, not at all ; you’d never 
guess it, so don’t try. But mind what I tell you, you 
back Damocles, and nothing else,' and with a wink of 
preternatural solemnity, Tom Robbins reeled out into 
the night air. 

A rumour of this sort soon gathers strength, and though 
his hearers, in the first instance, regarded it as merely the 
idle vapourings of a drunken man, yet they mentioned it 
to various acquaintances, and so the rumour got about, 
while the source from which it emanated became lost 
sight of. It wasn’t long before it reached the ears of Mr 
Stubber, and the trainer’s surprise and disbelief was un- 
bounded. 

‘ Rubbish ! ' he said. * It has never been questioned 


264 Long Odds. 

before, and there is nothing unlikely in Dick Bramton 
leaving all his property and horses to this brother. If 
anybody had had a right to pull the strings, I should 
have heard of it last year. Mr John Bramton don’t know 
anything about racing, and he left it to me to run the 
horses when and where I thought best. If anybody had 
had a right to interfere, they would have done it. I 
haven’t been a trainer for close upon thirty years without 
knowing that.’ 

Very troubled, indeed, was Mr Stubber about his 
charges at this time. He had two rattling good three- 
year-olds, doing just as well as the most exacting trainer 
could wish. Damocles had proved himself the best two- 
year-old of his year, and Stubber knew that Lucifer was 
but a very few pounds behind his stable companion. 
Here was such a chance to sweep the board of all the 
great three-year-old prizes as seldom falls to the lot of 
man. And here was Mr John Bramton, who apparently 
regarded the winning of the Derby as a matter of no con- 
sequence. Stubber had trained for many varieties of 
racing men, but only once in his experience had he had 
an employer who had dreamt of foregoing that glory. 
And to this day the trainer spoke of that man with 
loathing. It was the one time in Stubber’s career that 
he had held the key of the situation, the king card, and 
a colt who indubitably could have won the blue ribbon 
had been in his stables. And then the cynical, money- 
loving owner had said, ‘ Damn the Derby, Stubber. I 
shall win ever so much more if I keep him for the Cam- 
bridgeshire.’ And he did. To this hour, the Ring re- 
membered Mr Stubber’s outsider for that big handicap, 
who had won with heaven knows how much in hand, 
and nearly broke them. So bewildered is the trainer at 
the present time, that his sole reliance is placed upon 
Skinner. The trusty commissioner has not been down 
to Newmarket since, and has written to say that he is 
quite certain that the attempt to meddle with Damocles 
was due to the instigation of Mr Noel. 

‘Whatever was intended,’ he wrote, ‘it is evident from 
what you say, that they did no more than open the win- 
dow and how; Mr Noel meant to profit by it, I, of 


Semi-Boycotting of Bramton, 265 

course, can’t be sure at present. I should say he simply 
seems desirous of backing Damocles — a thing that, 
thanks to me, he finds at present difficult to accomplish 
to any extent.' 

It is needless to say that in his perplexity Mr Stubber 
speedily made the commissioner acquainted with the 
rumour that was now current at Newmarket. Skinner 
was a man who, in business, never pooh-poohed rumours. 
He at once set to work to test them to the extent of his 
ability, and after a few minutes’ cogitation, he came to 
the same conclusion as Mr Napper, that it would be 
worth while to spend a shilling at Somerset House for 
the purpose of reading Richard Bramton’s will. If the 
horses had not been left to John Bramton, it would be 
clearly stated in that document to whom they had been 
bequeathed. When the commissioner had perused 
Richard Bramton’s last testament, although not a little 
surprised, he did not see that it made much difference in 
the situation. That they were Miss Lucy’s horses, in- 
stead of her father’s, was small matter. And though 
Richard Bramton apparently desired they should be run 
through their engagements, it did not strike him as at all 
obligatory. However, he should be down at Newmarket 
in a few days, in the regular course of business, and then 
he would have a talk with Stubber over the affair. 


CHAPTER XLL 

SEMI-BOYCOTTINO OF BRAMTON. 

Mr Bramton is very much disgusted with the turn things 
have taken. He could not have believed that the neigh- 
bourhood would have taken the part of Lord Ranksborow 
50 promptly and so generally in their quarrel He did 
not quote Burns, and exclaim, 

‘ Do you see yon birkie ca*ed a lord ! * 

for the best of all possible reasons — he had never read 
Burns, but he raged against the aristocracy generally, and 
was filled with the feeling that 

‘A man’s a man for a' that* 


266 Long Odds, 

It was monstrous, it was outrageous. Was a man, by 
virtue of his birth, privileged to insult his fellow, and- 
because that other, prompted by the passions common to 
humanity, resented it, were all the community to take 
part against him? Yet John Bramton could not disguise 
from himself that the genial greetings of a week or two 
back had been in more cases than one exchanged for a 
chilly salute. Nobody inquired now after the health of 
Damocles, and John Bramton, who was shrewd enough, 
was by no means blind to the fact that his world looked 
askance upon him. 

On one point, however, he was much mistaken. That 
he was being looked coldly upon in that sporting county 
was undoubtedly true, but he was all wrong about the 
cause. Men were not treating him coolly on account of 
his quarrel with Lord Ranksborow, for truth to tell that 
was a thing unknown. Here and there it might be 
barely suspected, but this had nothing to do with the in- 
dignation of the people of Barkshire. No, Damocles was 
the reason. Barkshire had been excessively proud of 
claiming the owner of the first favourite for the Derby — 
the best horse of his year, as they all vowed — as one of 
themselves. Most of them had got a modest bet upon 
the race. Then came the revulsion in the betting market, 
and it was rumoured that he had broken down. Then 
came the sinister report that that was all moonshine — 
the horse was as well as ever he had been in his life ; that 
the real cause of his retrogression in the betting was that 
his owner had made up his mind to sell him. On the 
first blush West Barkshire declined to believe it. Com- 
munication between the metropolis and the country 
in these days, is both rapid and regular. Before the 
week was out, the turpitude of the master of Temple 
Rising was confirmed, and then contemptuous indignation 
took the place of sneaking admiration; and the belief 
that John Bramton was at heart a sportsman, was scat- 
tered to the winds. He is in the like position of the 
man who, as tradition tells us, set up as a squire in a 
hunting country, and inaugurated his reign by shooting a 
fox I West Barkshire regarded John Bramton^s conduct 
in a somewhat similar light 


Semi-Boycotting of Bramion. 267 

In his resentment, Bramton utterly forgot the Earl’s 
warning that this would probably occur, if he disposed 
of Damocles injudiciously. His sole feeling now, as Lucy’s, 
was to get rid of the horses as soon as they possibly 
could. He had broken off all negotiations with Mr 
Noel and that little syndicate of bookmakers of which he 
was the head, but he had written again to a wealthy 
young man who had only made his appearance on the 
turf a year or two previously, to tell him that if he 
chose to renew the offer made some five months ago for 
Damocles, he, Mr Bramton, was disposed to deal, and to 
that letter John Bramton had as yet received no reply. 
The reason was simple. Mr Verreker, the gentleman 
in question, had been wintering in Algeria, and had not 
as yet returned. This, however, Bramton was not aware 
of, and that he received no answer to his letter troubled 
him not a little. Still, such was his ignorance of the ways 
of the turf, that he had actually supposed that Mr 
Verreker, providing he was given a handsome offset in 
reduction of price, would submit to the condition that 
Damocles should not start for the Derby. John Bram- 
ton was utterly incapable of entering ipto a sportsman’s 
ambitions. To him, racing seemed simply a matter of 
money, but that Mr Verreker’s chief object in bidding 
a long price for the horse was for the express purpose 
of winning that great prize of the turf in the eyes of all 
racing men, and which many of them, after a lifetime 
spent in the pastime, never succeed in carrying off, was 
a thing beyond John Bramton’s comprehension. There 
is no certainty in anything, more especially in racing, and 
if there was a certain pecuniary solatium allowed as a set- 
off against the possibility of winning the Derby stakes, 
he could not conceive Mr Verreker having any objeo 
tion to the condition that Damocles should not start. 

John Bramton, though a good-natured man, was an 
obstinate one ; he moreover particularly plumed himself 
in being a man of his word, which meant, that having once 
said a thing, he doggedly adhered to it. He had told 
Lord Ranksborow that Damocles should not start for the 
Derby, and he was determined to keep his word. 

Mr Bramton wondered at times whether the neigh- 


263 


Long Odds, 

hours knew the real truth about his quarrel with the 
Ranksborow family, whether they had got hold of some 
garbled story concerning it, or whether they really were 
aware of the shameful way in which the late Lord Dartree 
had spoken in the supper-room at Wroxeter. If they 
were really aware of the true state of the case, then he 
could only say they were a parcel of chickenhearted 
minions — very pleased with this phrase was Mr Bramton — 
a memory of a bygone Surrey melodrama — bending before 
the great aristocrat of their neighbourhood, and after his 
second glass of port wine Mr Bramton vowed that he 
w^as made of sterner stuff, and would have satisfaction in 
some shape for such an outrage as that ‘ from any dook 
in the peerage, let alone an I Then Mr Bramton 
would exceed to the extent of another glass or so of port, 
and finally fall asleep in the drawing-room, in a most 
defiant frame of mind with regard to the house of Lords, 
the Royal Family, and all the powers that be. The good 
man’s worries, too, increased day by day. It was becom- 
ing an open question whether he would be able to dis- 
pose of the colt before the end of May and, under those 
circumstances the odium of Damocles not running at 
Epsom must fall upon him. Lord Ranksborow’s pro- 
phecy now recurred to him, and he could not but see 
that Mr Verreker or anybody else might well hesitate 
about bidding for a colt with such a distasteful condition 
attached to its purchase. Mr Stubber also, he could see, 
was extremely disgusted at the idea of his charge not 
being started at Epsom, and yet it never occurred to John 
Bramton to change his resolution, any more than it did 
that the extreme coolness with which he was now treated 
by his neighbours, was the result of his unsportsman-like 
turpitude. With the ladies, it was, of course, very differ- 
ent. Such a breach of turf etiquette would not affect 
them, nor, in the main, could they be brought to under- 
stand it. Women, as a rule, don’t understand much 
about racing. They enjoy it in the summer as a pleas- 
ant outing, and, when present, are delighted if the gay 
jacket which carries their fortunes proves successful ; but, 
of course, there are exceptions to this, and the Ladies 
Cuxwold were amongst them. Lady Jane and Lady 


Semi’Boycottmg of Bramtofu 269 

Emily were very angry indeed upon hearing of John 
Bramton’s intentions regarding Damocles. I'hey knew 
that their father stood to win a very large stake upon 
that horse, that there had been a quarrel between him 
and Mr Bramton on the morning after the Wroxeter Ball, 
and that the latter in his anger had declared his colt 
should not run at Epsom. Of the particulars of the 
quarrel they were utterly ignorant. The Earl had told 
the whole story to his wife, and they had decided the 
affair had better be kept to themselves. Jack’s arrival had 
so far changed this, in so much as he and Flood were now 
also acquainted with the real state of the case, and Jack 
had already decided that any approach to the Bramtons 
on his part was impossible, whilst Flood felt not only 
would interference on his part be excessively awkward, 
but, in all probability, useless. Had things been as they 
were when he had left for Cairo, it would have been 
pleasant to canter over to Temple Rising and announce 
that he had brought the lost sheep home again, to have 
recounted the story of Jack’s escape from the Halawins, 
and to tell Lucy that for the account of this nineteenth 
century Front de Boeuf, and the habits of the Bagarra 
Arabs, she must consult Captain Cuxwold himself. 

There was one person, however, who, although he had 
no knowledge of what gave rise to it, had penetrated the 
fact that there had been a bitter quarrel between John 
Bramton and the Knightshayes people, and that was Sir 
Kenneth Sandeman. He was a pretty constant visitor at 
Temple Rising, and had perhaps been more than ever so 
since the death of Lord Dartree. John Bramton rather 
clung to him, as the one man to whom this quarrel ap- 
peared to have made no difference. It was not likely to 
do so, any more than the striking of Damocles out of the 
Derby. Sir Kenneth was a man keenly alive to his own 
interests, and not likely to let either whims or fantasies 
stand between him and them. Further, he had taken a 
great dislike to Lord Ranksborow. One of Sir Kenneth 
weaknesses was an exaggerated idea of his own import- 
ance, and that was a point which he considered had 
never been sufficiently recognised by the Knightshayes 
people. He frequently came into West Barkshire, taking 


f 70 Long Odds. 

rooms at Wroxeter, and doing a little mild hunting from 
thence. He had many acquaintances in the county, and, 
of course, knew the Ranksborows ; but that family did 
not take to him, and he had never been asked to Knight- 
shayes. He said nothing about this, but in his heart he 
bitterly resented it. That Mr Bramton should speak in 
angry terms of the Earl at times was only natural, and as 
Sir Kenneth chimed in, and expressed his opinion that 
Lord Ranksborow was an arrogant beast, it was no 
wonder that Mr Bramton still further unbosomed himself, 
and made no secret about there being fierce enmity 
between him and the Earl. 

Sir Kenneth, too, had cordially detested the late Lord 
Dartree ; he had once or twice winced under the dead 
man’s sarcasms. Sir Kenneth was a grand man across 
country, over the dinner-table, but in the actual field he 
never took his place among the straight goers. Now 
there is no reason a man should not enjoy hunting in his 
own way, only, when he devotes himself to the coffee- 
house ]jhase of it, don’t let him claim to be one of the 
hard-riding brigade. Dartree and his companions had 
been rather wont to make fun of Sir Kenneth’s preten- 
sions in this respect. Further, had he not rivalled him in 
seeking to win the regard of Miss Bramton? Taking all 
these things into consideration, and bearing in mind that 
Sir Kenneth, though of a phlegmatic was of a somewhat 
vindictive disposition, and it is easy to see that he would 
entertain the most sincere dislike to the house of Ranks- 
borow. 

The death of Lord Dartree had cleared the way for Sir 
Kenneth. He prosecuted his suit to Miss Bramton 
vigorously, and, after the rude shock her vanity had lately 
sustained, . it was soothing and gratifying to the fair 
Matilda to find that she had an eligible admirer who was 
thoroughly in earnest ; and, only for the vision of a coronet 
that had so lately dazzled her eyes, Miss Bramton would 
have been fain to admit from the first that Sir Kenneth 
was a very eligible parti. Love, as her father might have 
said, was no item in Miss Bram ton’s scheme of matrimony. 
She was much too worldly and sensible a young woman to 
trouble her head about any such sentimental nonsense. 


Mr Mapper^ s Little Comedy. 2J\ 

She had made up her mind to settle herself, as soon as 
opportunity presented itself, and had made up her mind 
that what she emphatically required was a gentleman of 
good social position. Sir Kenneth thoroughly fulfilled 
these requirements, and now that the glamour of the 
more lofty position was removed, she had quite decided 
to say yes whenever he should ask the question. Sir 
Kenneth was a prudent man. He had quite made up his 
mind to marry Miss Biamton, and he came to the con- 
clusion that the sooner he formally proposed for her 
hand the better. A little later, and the Bramtons would 
very likely be going to town, and then Sir Kenneth 
thought there might be other candidates in the field. 
No, a handsome girl like Miss Bramton, with the very 
handsome expectations that were attached to her, was, ii 
she got properly introduced, not likely to be without 
aspirants for her hand. Lord Dartree had occasioned 
him dire misgivings he would not risk that sort of thing 
again. No, he had things all his own way just at present, 
he would clench matters at once ; and he did. A couple 
of days after Jack Cuxwold’s return, and the news came 
to Knightshayes that Miss Bramton was engaged to bo 
married to Sir Kenneth Sandeman. 


CHAPTER XLIL 

MR NAPPER’S little COMEDY. 

Mr Skinner has come down to Ne^vmarket, and is 
speedily in possession of the just now popular rumour, 
in that place of many rumours. Mr Stubber was perfectly 
right, it is currently reported that all Mr Bramton's horses 
are only nominally his, that the real owner has been kept 
perfectly dark, and that Mr Bramton is a mere puppet in 
his hands. 

‘Quite right, Stubber,' observed the commissioner. 
‘ They've got it all over the town, and, though they don't 
exactly know what they're talking about, for a wondei 
this time there's a suspicion of truth in their story. 1 
can tell you now, Stubber, why Mr Bramton didn't sell 
Lucifer. The fact is, it is open to question whether 


272 Long Odds, 

he can, just as it is equally open to question whether 
he can sell Damocles/ 

‘ Well, this beats me altogether,* rejoined the trainer, 
looking at the commissioner with undisguised admiration; 
how on earth did you work out the whole business ? * 

‘Never mind,* replied Mr Skinner loftily. Like other 
great men, he had no idea of underrating his faculties, and 
of confiding to Mr Stubber that on the payment of one 
shilling at Somerset House he might test the accuracy of 
his, Skinner’s, information. ‘Now,* continued the com- 
missioner, having, as I say, worked out the first part of 
the problem, the question is to get at the second. What 
I want to ascertain now is who set this rumour afloat at 
Newmarket, and, secondly, what his object was in doing so? 
I have made several inquiries since I’ve been down here, 
but though everybody is full of the story, nobody knows 
who originated it, whether it*s true or false.* 

‘Well,* said the trainer, ‘it’s not very likely any of ray 
people know where the story sprang from, but there ain’t 
any harm in asking my head lad.* 

But, contrary to Stubber’s expectation, the head lad, 
upon being spoken to, speedily returned, after making 
due inquiries, and said, — 

‘Lord, sir, all the boys seem to know about it. It 
seems that drunken fool Tom Robbins has been gassing 
about; he has been swelling away like a bull frog with 
this important secret, and when he’s two or three sheets 
in the wind, which I fancy is pretty nearly every night, 
he tells all his cronies to back Damocles, — that Mr Brain- 
ton’s got nothing to do with it, but it will be all right on 
the day.* 

‘And who is Tom Robbins?* inquired Mr Skinner 
sententiously. 

‘Well,* replied the trainer, laughing, ‘ that would be a 
little difficult to say, supposing you mean what is his 
pedigree. Most of us old hands here know \vho his 
mother was, but who was his father is somewhat doubtful ; 
anyhow, he got a good send-off here — a start in a solicitor’s 
office — but was too irregular in his habits to keep his 
place. When his mother died, he came into a small 
bit of money, though how she got it nobody knows. 


Mr Nappet^s Little Comedy. 273 

Backing horses on the Heath, and brandy and water 
at the bars, I should think has got through most of that. 
What he does now I cannot say exactly, but I fancy he’s 
a horse-watcher.’ 

‘ The thing begins to clear itself up a little, Stubber. 
A drunken tout in possession of the information I hold, 
would be quite sufficient to set such a rumour going. 
But he thought to himself, ‘ How the deuce does a man 
like Tom Robbins gain his information. It is very 
unlikely that he would pay his shilling and go to 
Somerset House. Stop, I have it ! Though the idea 
would never have occurred to Tom Robbins, it’s quite 
possible it might to Noel. Then, again, what did that 
open window mean ? If Noel was at the bottom of that, 
his intention would surely have been to prevent Damocles 
running for the Derby. My impression is that some- 
thing prejudicial to the health of Damocles was intended 
to have been thrown through that window — a drugged 
apple, or something of that sort. For some reason, 
however, it didn’t come off, I suppose, as the horse has 
been neither sick nor sorry. No, I don’t see it as yet. 
Pieces in the game, though, are no doubt Noel and 
Robbins, but how to connect them I don’t see. Well! 
we must await the next move in the game. This report 
has not been set going in Newmarket for nothing.’ 

Mr Skinner had not long to wait for that, for the even- 
ing papers apprised him, under the head of sporting in- 
telligence, ‘that there had been a tremendous run on 
Damocles for the big race at Epsom, that he had been 
backed for all the money that could be secured, from 
20 to I down to 10, and that his supporters would 
have gone on at that if the fielders had not cried ‘ Hold, 
enough,’ declining in many cases to offer more than 
8 to I, and in others refusing to bet against the colt at 
all’ The commissioner began to see Noel’s game a little 
more clearly now. It was quite evident that, from being 
an opponent of the horse, he had changed sides, and was 
now one of its strongest supporters. Still, if he had any- 
thing to do with the setting afloat of this rumour, what 
could be his object in doing so ? It was true the horses 
were not absolutely the property of Mr Bramton, but they 
s 


274 Long Odds. 

undoubtedly belonged to his daughter, and she was not 
likely to interfere with her father’s control over them. 
Mr Bramton had informed Stubber that he should sell 
the horse, if possible, before his Epsom engagement, but 
that, in any case, it would not start for that race. Certainly 
Mr Noel did not know this, but that it was currently 
rumoured in turf circles that Damocles would not run for 
the Derby, he did know. What could have induced such 
a wary speculator to change sides just when it looked 
as if the opponents of Damocles were going to have so 
much the best of it ? However, the commissioner could 
make nothing of this, and as it only wanted a few days 
to the first Spring meeting, Mr Skinner determined to 
stay on where lie was. 

That allusion should be made in the sporting papers 
about the absurd report of Mr Bramton^s horses not be- 
ing Mr Bramton’s property, was matter of course, and 
excited considerable surprise to Lord Ranksborow when 
he read it. Then came the extraordinary recovery of 
Damocles in the betting market, and once more hope 
was rekindled in the bosom of that sanguine peer. He 
wrote off at once to Skinner, to inquire concerning these 
things, and his face fell when that gentleman’s reply 
reached him. Mr Skinner told him what he had discovered, 
and said that, so far, the report was true ; that the people 
who had backed the colt so heavily, were those who so 
far had been his bitterest opponents, but that upon what 
grounds they were doing so, he was at a loss to conjec- 
ture. 

In conclusion, he remarked that the horse was ex- 
tremely well, and he thought would probably win at 
Epsom if only allowed to compete. 

‘Cold comfort this,’ muttered the Earl. ‘The colt, it 
seems, is the property of one of the insulted ladies, instead 
of her father. No, I don’t think I could look for much 
mercy at a woman’s hands, under the circumstances. 
One don’t expect forgiveness from a scorned woman.’ 
And then the Earl once more abandoned the idea of hav- 
ing the knot of his difficulties cut in this wise. 

At Temple Rising, they took at present but very little 
notice of the racing intelligence and fluctuations of the 


Mr Nappet^s Little Comedy^ 275 

betting market. But Mr Bramton’s attention was sud- 
denly recalled to turf matters by the receipt of the 
following letter : — 

* Sir, — It being currently reported that it is your inten- 
tion to strike Damocles out of the Derby, I beg leave to 
call your attention to a clause in the late Richard Bram- 
ton's will, w^hich mgkes your running his horses through 
their engagements a condition of Miss Lucy Bramton^s 
engagements. As his nearest of kin, I need hardly say 
that I have been shamefully treated in not being even 
mentioned in it. On the strength of that will, I have 
backed Damocles for the Derby, and can only assure 
you that if I lose my money in consequences of his not 
running, I shall see what compensation a law court will 
award me. If the condition of inheritance is not 
carried out, then I am advised that Richard Bramton's 
will can be set aside, and that, as next-of-kin, I inherit 
his horses and estate. — I am, sir, faithfully yours, 

‘Thomas Robbins. 

*7 Skelton Villas, Newmarket.* 

Mr Bramton was not at all the man to be frightened 
by a letter of this sort, but it did recall to him what he 
had almost forgotten, namely, that the horses were his 
daughter’s and not his. He read the letter over twice, 
and then said to himself, — 

‘ Kin. I never heard that Dick left kith or kin behind 
him, except ourselves. No,’ he continued, ‘this is a 
“try on,” that’s what it is. If this chap had anything to 
go upon, he would have waited till the Derby was over, 
and then set his lawyers to work. No, Robbins has 
backed my horse for the Derby, and thinks he is going 
to bounce me into starting it, whether I like it or no. 
I’m sorry for Robbins, but Damocles don’t run. I 
haven’t been all these years in business, to be bam- 
boozled by a bogus letter like that. I shall simply take 
no notice of it,’ and so saying, Mr Bramton tore up the. 
epistle and threw the fragments into the waste-paper 
basket. » 

Tom Robbins had written under the dictation of Mr 


276 Long Odds, 

Napper, who had been told by his uncle to begin to put 
such machinery as he could manufacture out of Richard 
Bramton’s will in motion at once, as in the course of 
the next month it might be necessary to exercise all the 
pressure they could command to induce Mr Bramton to 
start Damocles at Epsom. Tom Robbins’ letter was a 
mere pilot balloon, — a mere throwing up of straws to 
see how the wind blew. • 

‘Unless he is one of the regular weak-kneed sort, he’ll 
take no notice of this, Tom. If he does, it is a nice little 
sum into your pocket, depend upon it, whatever turns up ; 
but whatever he may do about this, when I write the 
next letter, as your solicitor, I shall draw him. At all events, 
there is a good chance of making something out of it, 
one way or the other.’ 

And so poor silly Tom Robbins, who was as mere dough 
in the hands of his cunning and unscrupulous confeder- 
ate, stopped nightly about the bars at Newmarket, bab- 
bling of what he could tell if he chose, and wrapped 
in the pleasant conviction that there would be a thousand 
or so offered him eventually to withdraw his claim on 
Richard Bramton’s estate. 

One of the great features of that First Spring meeting 
at Newmarket, was the furore for Damocles. The horse 
was seen striding along in his gallops every morning in 
splendid style, and, despite that old rumour of a few 
weeks ago that he would not start, the cleverest men on 
the turf were backing him for his Epsom engagement, ay, 
and backing him heavily too. Five to one against Dam- 
ocles for the Derby was a thing difficult to obtain now, 
and undoubtedly not to be got in any large sum. 

With the resuscitation of Damocles there comes a 
change over the neighbourhood in their conduct to John 
Bramton. Once again they became more genial in their 
‘good days,’ and once more came such cheery comments 
as ‘ Glad to see the colt’s going again like great guns, Mr 
Bramton,’ or ‘The Derby’s coming to West Barkshire 
after all, sir ; ’ but the owner of Temple Rising is sore at 
heart, and bitterly resents the part he deems the county 
have taken against him in his quarrel with Lord Ranks- 
borow. He does not openly avow his intention of not 


Mr Nappef^s Little Comedy. 277 

starting the horse for the race, but he is more determined 
than ever not to do so, — kept up to his resolve, too, by 
that implacable son-in-law of his that is to be, who cannot 
forgive the Ranksborows for not welcoming him with the 
warmth he conceives due to a man in his position. 
Angry, passionately angry, as Miss Bramton had been at 
the time, her animosity would have been buried in Lord 
Dartree’s grave, had it not been for her fiancee. No 
sooner was he engaged to her, than he easily extracted 
from her if not the exact story, a version near enough 
to serve his turn. He burned to pay off some of the 
slights he considered he had received from the house of 
Ranksborow, and he took very good care that the wound 
Matilda’s pride had suffered should not be allowed to 
heal. It is ever easy to remind anyone of their wrongs, 
but to keep a woman alive to a cruel blow to her vanity, 
is perhaps the easiest form of this most unpleasant mode 
of condolence. With a view to gratifying his own dislike 
to the Knightshayes people. Sir Kenneth took very 
good care that Matilda Bramton should not forget the 
night of the Wroxeter Ball. He remembered bitterly how 
very much the best of their struggle for the young lady’s 
favour the dead man had had that night. He knew 
something of the embarrassments of Lord Ranksborow, 
and vowed that no help should come to him in his 
necessity, which it lay within his power to prevent. Not 
a forgiving man Sir Kenneth, — one of those fine old 
Scotch families not given to let the century close in on 
their wrath, but willing to prosecute a blood feud or a 
lawsuit as long as they have a life to lose, or a bawbee to 
spend. 

Loyally as Lucy meant to stand to her sister, and 
heartily sick as she was of owning racehorses, which 
seemed to produce nothing but quarrels and estrange- 
ments from her dearest friends, still the fires of her 
wrath were burning much fainter than they had done in 
the beginning. In her eyes, the terrible fate which had 
so speedily befallen the culprit, had done away with 
much of his offending. She knew, as they all did, what 
the victory of this horse meant to the Earl, and she 
could but recall the friendly terms she had been on with 


278 Long Oddo. 

the Knightshayes people, and especially how kind and 
thoughtful Captain Cuxwold had been in the days of 
her sore trouble. The insult had been more directly 
levelled at her sister than herself, yet, for all that, Lucy 
had no idea of not exacting quite as severe reparation 
for it as if it had been directly personal. She did very 
much wish to see Mr Flood. Captain Cuxwold, of 
course, she was not likely to meet again, except as a mere 
stranger, but Mr Flood was different. Of course, he 
might include himself in their quarrel with the Ranks- 
borows, but he need not necessarily do so. It depended 
upon himself what line he chose to take. Whether it 
was in consequence of their quarrel with Knightshayes, 
she could not say, but it certainly did seem that the 
visitors at Temple Rising were not so numerous as they 
had been a short time back. She had thought her 
sister’s engagement would have produced a great many 
visits of congratulation. It had brought about a good 
many, but fewer than she had expected. The truth was, 
though well known, Sir Kenneth was by no means a 
popular man in West Barkshire, and people felt some- 
what indifferent to his having a prosperous future before 
him, in consequence. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

BRAMTON NOT TO BE DRIVEN. 

‘Now* my lad,’ said Mr Noel, as he and his precious 
nephew sat smoking in the little sitting-room v/hich 
appertained to the domicile in which the bookmaker 
was accustomed to take up his quarters for the New- 
market meetings, ‘you are a better judge of the inclem- 
ency of the climate here than I am. Lucky for me I’ve 
had a good week, for I’ve got to fork out that five 
hundred to you. Now just you pay attention to what I’m 
saying to you. That cold was very well managed, and 
there is no mistake about my game now. I’m going for 
Damocles. You see, it was Lord Dartree took my yearling 
book about him, and, of course, his death scratched 
that bet I’ve backed bim for a lot of money this 


Bramton not to be driven. 279 

week, and shall make a much better thing of his winning 
than losing. It was troublesome work too. That beggar 
Skinner got in my way at first : he often does. He hates 
me, and 1 — I don^t feel heavenly towards him ; however, 
it^s all right now, and I don’t think Mr Bramton would 
have the cheek to withdraw the colt at this time of day ; 
still, perhaps, there would be no harm in putting the screw 
on a little.’ 

Mr Napper’s eyes twinkled with greed of gain as he 
clasped the crisp roll of notes in his hand. 

‘ It might be as well,’ he said at last, ‘to fire another shot. 
He has taken no notice of the first letter, but that is 
nothing. A legal notice that proceedings will be taken 
against his daughter, under the provisions of Richard 
Bramton’s will, should the colt not start for the Derby, 
might determine him ; but I should think there is no 
doubt about it, is there ? He is sure to run, isn’t he ? ’ 

‘ I hope so, and I think so,’ replied Noel. ‘ But I can’t 
forget that I heard from very good authority, — from a 
man who is always well up in the ins and outs of Stubber’s 
stable, that the colt wouldn’t start. Now it was the 
day before that window was found open, so that could 
have nothing to say to it. He could give me no reason, 
but said shortly I might take the hint or leave it alone, 
but that I had known him long enough to be aware that 
he was not speaking at random.’ 

‘It’s odd,’ said Napper. ‘There was a deal of betting 
this week. Who were the principal backers of Damocles ? ’ 

‘Myself and immediate friends,’ replied Mr Noel; ‘there 
was also a small section of the racing public. But the 
public that go racing never take kindly to a horse that 
has-been much knocked about in the betting; and then, 
of course, a great many of them were sweet upon 
Rhoderic Dhu, the winner of the Two Thousand.’ 

‘ Perhaps it would be as well to fire another shot,’ said 
Mr Napper. ‘ It’s only a sheet of paper, though, looked at 
in a business way, it ought to be six-and-eightpence. 
As I have told you, we couldn’t really take any legal 
proceedings ; we haven’t a leg to stand upon.’ 

‘Legal proceedings be d — d!’ interrupted Mr Noel 
roughly. ‘ If you had the best case that ever went into 


28 o 


Long Odds. 

a law court, what good would that be to me? Why it 
wouldn’t even begin for a month, and the race would be 
all over by that time. No, what you said yourself at first, 
bounce Bramton into running his colt, by hinting that 
his girl will lose all the property if he don’t. That’s 
what you’ve got to do. People are rather shy of meddl- 
ing with the law, as far as my experience goes.’ 

‘All right,’ rejoined Mr Napper, who was far too 
politic to quarrel with his wealthy relative. ‘ I’ll see to 
it at once ;’ and, according to this arrangement, the next 
day Mr Napper indited a letter which began, ‘I am 
instructed to take proceedings,’ and embodied the sub- 
stance of Tom Robbins’ epistle in legal formula. 

It perhaps did not make much difference, but Messrs 
Noel and Napper were wrong in one particular. How- 
ever well you may know human nature, its infinite variety 
constantly upsets the man of the world’s calculations. 
Messrs Noel and Napper are right. The threat of legal 
proceedings exercises a great teiTor upon weak and 
nervous persons; but there are other men born with a 
naturally combative and litigious temperament, — men 
who are always spoiling for a fight, and held in the 
greatest esteem and reverence by the lawyers. Now, 
John Bramton was exactly one of these men. To 
threaten him with the law was equivalent to putting a 
pistol to his head. As you made your demand, he was 
a man who would certainly have rejected any advice to 
compromise, and who would have contested a very 
indifferent case, sooner than give in. It was not likely 
that he was going to knuckle under, to commence 
with, before such a feeble attack as his common sense 
told him this to be. But, for all that, he was far too 
business-like a man to endanger his daughter’s inherit- 
ance. If they decided to avenge the insult put upon 
them by the Ranksborows, then Lucy, at all events, 
must be made clearly to understand at what risk she 
did so. 

‘ The scoundrels ! ’ muttered Mr Bramton. ‘ The idea 
of their endeavouring to dictate to me whether the 
horses shall run or not. I’ll write a line to this Mr 
Napper at once, and just give him one for himself ; and 


Brafnton not to be driven^ 281 

perhaps it would be as well at the same time to drop 
Drysdel & Pecker a line, and tell them they had better 
inquire into this claim, and ascertain who Mr Robbins 
is.’ And then Mr Bramton, in a fine glow of indigna> 
tion, seated himself at his writing-table, and prepared, as 
he expressed it, ‘ to let off the steam.’ 

‘Sir,’ he wrote, — ‘You. can inform your client, Mr 
Thomas Robbins, that his having backed my horse for 
the Derby is a matter about which I feel no interest 
That Damocles will run or not run just as I think 
best; but you can further inform Mr Robbins that I 
shall probably decide upon the latter, — that I don’t bet 
myself, and feel no pity for those who lose money by 
doing so. My solicitors are Messrs Drysdel & Pecker, 
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, to whom you are requested to 
address all further communications.’ 

Mr Napper gave vent , to a long whisde when this 
epistle reached him. 

‘This will be pleasant news for Uncle Noel when 
he hears it,’ he muttered. ‘I should say, from this 
letter, Damocles won’t run. Refers us, too, to Drysdel 
& Pecker. Thoroughly respectable, and, besides that, as 
smart a going firm of solicitors as there is in all London. 
That Pecker is as sharp as a needle. If he don’t come 
down himself, he’ll have a clerk down here to-day or 
to-morrow, who will have reckoned up Tom Robbins 
in less than no time, and know that we have no case 
whatever. Then he is safe to call here, and find out 
that I’m not the firm, but only a clerk, and that my 
employers know nothing whatever of the business. How 
I wish I hadn’t been so sharp. Oh, Sim Napper, what a 
hundering ass you’ve made of yourself! I suppose I 
hall get the sack, and Uncle Noel a real nose-ender. 
Whew, I wish this brute Damocles was dead ! ’ ^ 

In the course of the next day or two, Mr Bramton 
confided the story of Napper’s letter to his future son-in- 
law. Sir Kenneth was much interested in the whole 
thing, as this was the first time he had become acquainted 
with the peculiar conditions of Dick Bramton’s will. 

‘ It’s a deuced odd will,’ he remarked at last, with his 


283 


Long Odds. 

slow, somewhat peculiar drawl, * but you are quite right 
I have no doubt that is a mere impudent attempt to 
extort money from you, by somebody who has become 
acquainted with the terms of Richard Bramton’s last 
testament Of course, you don’t mean to take any notice 
of what this fellow says, and will strike Damocles out of 
the Derby, all the same.’ 

There was a touch of true Scotch caution about Sir 
Kenneth, and he had been careful to ascertain that the 
fortunes of his fiancee Matilda would be in no wise in- 
fluenced by any legal consequences that came of bidding 
Robbins defiance. He had considerable admiration for 
his wife that was to be, but Sir Kenneth was not the 
sort of man, even in his youth, to have made a love 
match. If, like the Laird of Cockpen, 

‘ He wanted a wife his braw hoose to keep,* 
he was fully determined that she must do her share 
pecuniarily towards keeping it. 

‘I should tell my lawyer, if I were you, to inquire 
pretty closely into the life and doings of Tom Robbins, 
and what sort of a solicitor this Mr Napper is. A little 
investigation of this kind will probably squelch the case 
before ten days are over.’ 

‘Just so, just so. Sir Kenneth. I’ll make it hot for 
him. I’ll make Mr Robbins sit up, before I’ve done 
with him ; and if he has backed Damocles, I only hope 
it’s for all he is worth.’ 

‘ That will probably turn out to be not much,’ rejoined 
Sir Kenneth, with a dry laugh. ‘ It’s much more likely 
that he is an impudent vagabond, who, upon the strength 
of being some distant connection to your late brother, 
thinks it might be possible to frighten you into buying 
his silence.’ 

And then Sir Kenneth w^as suddenly struck with a 
new aspect of the affair. Yes, he thought, it was abso- 
lutely necessary that he should know the story of Tom 
Robbins. He was about to marry Miss Bramton, a 
pretty, ladylike young woman, w^ho would pass anywhere 
as Lady Sandeman. His sister-in-law he felt, would also 
do him credit. Bramton, father and mother, had been 
accepted by Barkshire, and, m consideration of their 


Brainton not to be driven. 283 

wealth, Barkshire had tacitly agreed to vote their 
vulgarity merely eccentricity. But needy, poor rela- 
tions of the Tom Robbins type in the background, was 
a thing to be inquired into. Tom Robbins might be 
only one of a very vagabond crew who could claim kinship 
with the family he proposed to marry into ; racing men 
like Dick Bramton were likely to be loose fishes, and 
Heaven knows what queer connection this man might 
have formed in his youth. Sir Kenneth felt he should 
be more comfortable when the Tom Robbins mystery 
was cleared up. He was not to blame altogether. It 
must be remembered he was a proud man, and that 
though money was an important factor in his matrimonial 
views, still no amount of it would have compensated 
him for the discovery that his wife had a lot of poor and 
vagrant cousins, claiming privilege, on the strength of 
that cousinship, to call her ‘Tilda.' Yes, decidedly the 
mystery of Tom Robb-ins must be cleared up. 

As far as that latter worthy was concerned, the collapse 
of Mr Napper's ingenious scheme would matter little. 
Like most votaries of horse-racing, he constantly indulge i 
in dreams of suddenly-acquired wealth. This would 
only be another of these golden visions dissolved. But to 
Mr Napper it was otherwise. He saw, too late, the pains 
and penalties attaching to his audacious attempt, and 
that the end of the business might be the cancelling of 
his articles, and dismissal by his employers. This discon- 
certed Mr Napper not a little. He had marked out his 
future, and was only longing for the time when he 
should be able to set up as an attorney on his own 
account. He thought he saw his way into a snug little 
business, under the guise of a sporting solicitor, com- 
bining a little money-lending, at somewhat usurious 
interest, with it. He had scraped together two or three 
hundred, to which his uncle's five would make a very 
comfortable addition, and now this career of prosperous 
industry stood in some danger of being nipped in the bud. 

Mr Noel, too, when he received his nephew's letter, 
uttered a malediction, and then proceeded to invoke very 
questionable blessings on the head of Mr Bramton. He 
had thrown on one side the hint that had been vouch- 


284 Long Odds. 

safed him, and, taking advantage of the report of the acci- 
dent to Damocles, which he had been instrumental in 
bringing about, had thoroughly upset the colt’s status in 
the market for the time. He now stood a very good 
stake with the colt, and though, in consequence of having 
a book based upon sound mathematical principles, he 
would be no heavy loser by the horse’s failure, yet Mr 
Noel loved money, and was bitterly annoyed at the idea 
of the comfortable stake he had marked out for himself 
slipping through his fingers. He would have repudiated 
the idea that he had ever placed much dependence on this 
scheme for terrorising Mr Bramton, but in his heart of 
hearts he had, and was frightfidly disgusted at his com- 
plete failure, and still more at Mr Bramton’s intimation 
that he should probably not run the horse at Epsom. 

Mr Pecker, on receiving Bramton’s letter, resolved to 
go down to Newmarket at once, and found very little 
difficulty, in the course of three or four hours, in finding 
out as much as he thought it necessary to know about 
Tom Robbins. 

‘ I went to see,' he wrote, ‘ Stubber, in the first place. 
I found he knew nothing of Richard Bramton’s will, nor 
of the threat that had been launched against you in the 
event of your deciding not to run Damocles for the 
Derby. I thought it best not to enlighten him. But he did 
know all about Mr Tom Robbins, and readily told all he 
knew. It seems Robbins has lately claimed to be a son 
of the late Richard Bramton. Your brother never ac- 
knowledged him in the slightest way, when he was alive, 
nor is he, as we know, mentioned in the will. Richard 
Bramton spent his life at Newmarket, and there are many 
who, like Stubber, have known him from a boy. They 
have all the greatest doubts of Robbins having the 
slightest claim to calling the deceased gei.tleman his 
father. And bear in mind that he never ventured to 
do so while Richard Bramton was alive. Further, in 
any case, they are quite convinced that he was never 
born in wedlock, — that the mother in her youth was well 
known at Newmarket, and reputed to be by no means 
straitlaced of character ; in short, I am quite convinced 


Flood calls at Temple Rising, 285 

that the whole affair is a mere trumped-up charge, for the 
purpose of extorting money, and, in my opinion, quite un- 
worthy of consideration. Remember, as I told you before, 
that if a legitimate claimant came forward with an appar- 
ently legitimate case, I should advise you to run Damocles 
sooner than give him a pretext for litigation ; but in the 
present instance I am sure you need not trouble your- 
self. — Your obedient servant, R. Pecker.' 

‘ That settles it ! ' exclaimed Sir Kenneth, when Bram- 
ton showed him the letter. ‘ You'll strike out Damocles, 
if it is only to pay out Mr Tom Robbins for his con- 
founded impudence.' 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

FLOOD CALLS AT TEMPLE RISING. 

A MAN sorely exercised in his mind at this time was 
Alec Flood. He had said, in the first instance, that it 
was impossible for him to go to Temple Rising, — that 
h^ could not possibly venture to expostulate with Mr 
Bramton on what he might choose to do with his horses ; 
but now, through Skinner, had come to the Earl the 
curious information that Lucy Bramton was the actual 
owner of the horses, and not her father. Skinner had 
written, after the Two Thousand week, to his old patron, 
and told him the exact state of the case, so far as he 
coifld understand it. He mentioned that it was rumoured 
the horses were not the property of Mr Bramton, and 
that he was a mere name in the whole business. ‘ Such 
is the rumour ringing all through the racing world at 
this minute, and it is so far true, that the horses, like all 
the rest of the property, were bequeathed to Miss Lucy 
Bramton. I have been at the trouble of seeing the will, 
and know that this is so, but this, I should imagine, does 
not in the least affect Mr Bramton's control of Damocles. 
Noel, formerly his greatest opponent, has turned round, 
and is now one of the horse's most substantial supporters. 
Stubber tells me the colt never was better, and I can 
personally vouch that he is doing his work in grand 


286 


Long Odds, 

form. The whole thing seems to me to lie in a nutshell. 
Damocles will, I fancy, win the Derby, should he start ; 
and the betting, like everything else, tends to show that 
he will. There is nothing but that temporary rumour 
that Mr Bramton did not mean to run him, and which, 
though scotched for the present, still crops up again at 
intervals, to make his backers in the least uneasy.’ 

Alec Flood knew by this time what a very serious 
matter the victory of this colt was to the Earl of Ranks- 
borow, and indeed to all his family. He did not want to 
interfere; he most assuredly shrank, knowing what he did, 
from going over to Temple Rising, especially with any 
view to discussing this subject with Mr Bramton. At 
present there seemed no cause for his interference. 
According to Skinner, it looked as if Mr Bramton had 
forgotten the words spoken in his wrath, and, though no 
racing or betting man, was going to pick up as many big 
stakes with the horses committed to his charge as his 
trainer deemed practicable. And yet Alec felt uneasy. 
He knew John Bramton, and he felt intuitively that 
Matilda’s was no forgiving nature ; and then he began 
to wonder \yhat he ought to do, should they be infornied 
on good authority that Mr Bramton was resolved not to 
run Damocles. 

He argued it out with himself, in clear, logical fashion. 
His love for Lucy had faltered not one whit. He knew 
very well that nothing but the success of this horse could 
possibly stop the sale of a great part of the Knighthayes 
estate. He knew, of course, that this would so widen 
the breach between the Ranksborows and Bramtons, 
that there would be slight chance of Jack and Lucy ever 
meeting. It would be, in all probability, to extinguish the 
chance of his most formidable rival ; and though he was 
a rejected suitor now, who should say that his chance 
might not come, once Jack Cuxwold was satisfactorily 
disposed of. And yet, Jack was his dearest friend, and 
Lucy the one girl he had ever cared about ; and he 
believed thoroughly that her liking for Jack Cuxwold was 
the cause of her own indifference to himself. ‘ Friends 
ever,’ she had said earnestly at parting, and, as Alec 
thought it all over, he began to doubt whether, if it 


Flood calls at Temple Rising. 287 

became advisable to interfere, he shouldn’t be acting a 
mean part in adhering to the doctrine of non-interven- 
tion. 

At the present moment, to judge from Mr Skinner’s 
letter, there was no call for his interference ; but, suppos- 
ing between this and the race things went wrong again, 
was he justified in standing aloof, and making no attempt 
to heal the breach between the two families ? He had 
nothing to do but to take a passive part. Neither Lord 
Ranksborow nor Jack had suggested that he should 
undertake the role of the peacemaker ; but if his lips had 
not spoken it, Jack Cuxwold’s eyes, when the subject was 
being discussed, had more than once hinted it. He 
could see clearly that if Mr Bramton fulfilled his threat, 
the quarrel between Lord Ranksborow and the master of 
Temple Rising would never be made up. And Jack 
Cuxwold could not but side with his father. On board 
ship that night, it had been clear to him that the person 
of all others Jack ought , to marry, was Lucy Bramton. 
She was a charming girl, and half in love with him 
already, as he with her. And she would bring a rare 
dowry with her with which to prop up the tottering 
Ranksborow peerage. Let this Derby but come off right, 
and that ricketty coronet would be so far buttressed as 
to save Jack from going wooing in forma pauperis. It 
was obvious to him that this might very likely depend 
upon himself to bring about. For the first time, they had 
become aware that Miss Lucy was the real owner of the 
horses, and upon her dictum it really depended whether 
Damocles ran for the Derby or not 

‘All’s fair in love or war,’ they say, and Flood felt 
that it was within his power to keep Jack and Lucy 
permanently apart. But for what good ? He had had 
his chance, — a fair field, and no competitor from whom 
he had cause to apprehend danger, on the scene. He 
had put his fortune to the test, and received a firm but 
courteous refusal. True, girls did change their minds, 
and many a maiden has been wooed and won by the 
rejected of former days. Friendship is of small account 
when weighed against love ; but still, Alec could but feel 
he had no right to stand between these two, on the 


288 


Long Odds, 

somewhat shadowy chance of forwarding his own pro- 
spects. No, he made up his mind that if it became 
expedient, he would go over to Temple Rising, and, at 
all events, see if there was anything to be done. 

He had not long to wait, for in a very few days 
Damocles once more began to decline in the betting. 
Mr Noel, at the present moment, was in possession of 
what he considered the best possible information about 
the intentions of the owner of that colt. It was most 
improbable that Miss Lucy would differ from her father 
in her views about the running of the horse. He has it 
in John Bramton’s own handwriting that the colt will 
probably not run for the Derby, and Mr Noel considers 
that quite sufficient to justify him in taking back his 
money, that is to say, in once more laying against 
Damocles, to recover what he has backed him for. 
Gloomily the Earl beholds the horse recede, point by 
point, in the betting, dropping from fours gradually to 
tens and twelves to one. He knows that the colt is well, 
and that this can be nothing but the foreshadowed result 
of Mr Bramton’s vow of vengeance. Paragraphs began 
to appear in the sporting papers, commenting on the ex- 
traordinary manner in which Mr Bramton’s horse was 
knocked about in the market, and upon the revival of 
the old rumour that he would not be seen at Epsom. 

‘ Mr Bramton, we understand, is no sportsman, and 
utterly unversed in the mysteries of the turf ; but we 
presume he is gifted with common sense, and he must 
know that for the tricks being played in his name he will 
be held responsible, and that the striking out of a horse 
from a great race at the eleventh hour is conduct utterly 
inadmissible, if that horse is fit to run. Damocles was 
quite at the top of the tree as a two-year-old, and should 
give a rare account of himself, if - he has done well 
since we saw him at Newmarket in the Two t housand 
week. We thought we had never seen a colt more im- 
proved. That Mr Bramton is not going to run his colt 
at Epsom we cannot bring ourselves to believe ; but if he 
carries, out the intention which rumour ascribes to him, 
we can only say that he will have made a name in turf 
history which no man need envy him, and which will be 


Flood calls at Temple Rising, 289 

enough to make poor Dick Bramton lie uneasy in his 
grave/ 

But these severe strictures were as yet confined to the 
sporting press, and that was a literature not patronised at 
Temple Rising. ^ 

‘Poor Dartree,’ said Jack, after reading the above; 
‘he certainly did upset the coach with a vengeance. 
Shylock means having his pound of flesh and no mistake 
about it. He won’t be deterred by the threatened anger 
of the British public, because he’ll never picture what a 
storm of abuse will descend upon him if he scratches the 
colt now.’ 

‘ I suppose he will get pretty handsomely slated by the 
press,’ replied Flood. 

‘Yes,’ rejoined Cuxwold. ‘The Derby is one of our 
national institutions, and Englishmen don’t stand tricks 
played with those. The favourite for the Derby becomes 
public property. The public sympathise with you if your 
horse comes to grief, — are very angry on your behalf 
should he be tampered with, but play tricks with him 
yourself, and you’ve about brought down Niagara on your 
devoted head. 

Flood said no more, but muttering something about 
having letters to write, walked off to the library. A few 
turns up and down the deserted room and he had made 
up his mind. If he was to interfere, there was no time to 
be lost, for the horse might be struck out now at any 
moment, and then the case was past remedy. He would 
ride over to Temple Rising that afternoon, and see what 
could be done. No need to take anyone into his confi- 
dence ; far better not, he thought, at all events certainly in 
the first place. Alec Flood was accustomed to do pretty 
much as he liked at Knightshayes, and therefore his ask- 
ing at luncheon if he could have a hack for the afternoon 
created no sort of surprise, and, that meal disposed of, 
Alec was soon cantering towards Temple Rising. 

He found Mr and Mrs Bramton with Lucy in the draw- 
ing-room. Miss Bramton and her fiance were gone out 
for a ride, but the remainder of the family, although with 
a certain air of constraint, welcomed him cordially. They 
were unfeignedly glad to see him, and were particularly 


290 Long Odds. 

anxious not to include him in their quarrel with Knight- 
shayes, but, for all that, they could not forget that he came 
from the enemy’s camp. Mr Bramton, after a few fatuous 
remarks about the weather, drifted on into anxious 
inquiry about Flood’s health, finally blurting out the 
hope that Captain Cuxwold was pretty well, and then, be- 
coming suddenly conscious that the very name of that 
family was tabooed at Temple Rising, muttered some- 
thing about important directions to give to the gardeners, 
and made his escape from the room. Poor Mrs Bramton 
was dying to do the same : she honestly didn’t know what 
to say to her guest. The quarrel with the Knightshayes 
people was a continual topic of conversation amongst 
them, and yet she was quite aware that she must not 
touch upon that topic this afternoon. Alec cut the 
Gordian knot for them. He boldly said, — 

‘ Can I speak to you alone. Miss Lucy ? I have some- 
thing to say for your ears only.’ 

‘ All right, Mr Flood 1 ’ exclaimed Mrs Bramton. ‘ I have 
two or three things to look after, and will leave you two 
together,’ and, only too delighted to make her escape, 
Mrs Bramton withdrew. 

‘You can guess what I’ve come to talk about, Lucy,’ 
said Flood, as the door closed. ‘I want to speak to 
you about this quarrel between your father and Lord 
Ranksborow.’ 

‘That is hardly stating the case correctly,’ replied 
Lucy. ‘It is not with my father but with the whole 
family that the quarrel lies. Have they told you the 
truth about it? Are you aware that Lord Dartree, 
a constant and favoured guest, mind, at our house, 
held us all up to ridicule in the supper-room, at the 
conclusion of the Wroxeter Ball ? ’ 

‘Yes, I have heard it,’ rejoined Flood quietly, ‘and 
regret it as much as any other member of the Ranks- 
borow family. Poor Dartree has gone to his account, 
and is no more to be reckoned with in this world. He 
was not quite himself when he made that foolish speech. 
Not that, weie he alive, I would plead that in his defence. 
A man must abide by his actions, whether he has taken 
too much wine or not.’ 


Flood calls at Temple Rising. 291 

‘He made us generally, and my sister in particular, 
the laughing-stock of the ballroom,’ rejoined Lucy, 
with tingling cheeks and flashing eyes. 

‘ As I said before/ replied Alec, ‘ I have nothing to 
say in his defence. But don’t you think you’re pursuing 
a sheer Corsican vendetta against the Cuxwolds ? Lord 
Ranksborow is entirely innocent of uttering one word 
to your disparagement. You are holding him account- 
able for his son’s words ; and, as Mr Bramton has rightly 
guessed, whether Damocles wins or does not win the 
Derby, makes a difference so serious to him that I don’t 
mind admitting to you, in confidence, that half the 
Knightshayes estate must come to the hammer should 
this their last hope fail them.’ 

‘ We can’t, Mr Flood, we can’t indeed. What papa 
has said, you may depend upon it he will stick to ; he 
is a man who prides himself upon keeping to his word’ 

‘ No, Lucy, that won’t do,’ replied Flood. ‘ We know, 
indeed everybody knows now, that the horses are your 
property. I happen to know, moreover, that you came 
of age six weeks ago, and can do absolutely what you 
like in this matter. If you choose to say Damocles 
shall run, he must run, whatever your father may say 
to the contrary. I only ask you to remember two 
things — first, that you’re ruining Lord Ranksborow, 
against whom you have personally no grudge ; further, 
that in his ruin you involve that of his son. Jack 
Cuxwold, who certainly upon one occasion did his best 
to stand between you and trouble ; secondly, you 
have no idea of the storm of abuse that will descend 
upon your father’s head, should he persist in his de- 
termination.’ 

‘ I don’t know what to do ! ’ cried Lucy. ‘ I wish 
poor Uncle Dick had never left his dreadful horses 
to me. Matilda will never forgive me if I flinch now ; 
and Sir Kenneth — he, too, is as unsparing in his resent- 
ment as my father and sister.’ 

‘ I can fancy that,’ rejoined Flood. ‘ Sir Kenneth is 
no friend to any of the Ranksborow family.’ 

‘ Stop ! ’ cried Lucy. ‘ Leave me now ; I must have 
time to think. Tell Captain Cuxwold to ride over 


292 Long Odds, 

time to think. Tell Captain Cuxwold to ride over 
here and see me himself. He owes us, at all events, 
some amends for his brother’s speech.’ 

Alec Flood said no more; he was far too practised 
a diplomatist not to refrain from further words, when 
he found his point was gained. He bent over Lucy’s 
hand for a moment, then raised it to his lips, said, 
in a low tone, ‘ Friends ever ! ’ and disappeared. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

LUCY ASSERTS HERSELF. 

Alec Flood rode back to Knightshayes in a high state 
of elation. He had done what, in the vernacular of his 
set, was termed ‘ the straight thing,’ and, say what he will, 
man is usually well satisfied with himself when that is 
the case. Then he had succeeded beyond his expectations. 
He felt perfectly certain that Lucy would never have told 
him to send Jack to her, unless she had made up her 
mind that Damocles should start for the Derby. Further, 
he would have brought those two together. ‘ And now,’ 
he said to himself, with a half smile, ‘ I wash my hands 
of their affairs from this out : they will get on far better 
without my meddling.’ But if his interview had turned 
out very satisfactory, it had taken a turn for which Alec 
Flood was not at all prepared. Keeping his visit to 
Temple Rising a secret was now no longer possible ; and, 
in Flood’s eyes, the interests at stake were so large, that 
Jack Cuxwold could not attend to Lucy’s commands 
too quickly. Jack Cuxwold’s astonishment when he 
heard the news was something more than great. He 
could hardly believe it. He had made up his mind 
that the best part of the old acres must go, and that 
Bramton would carry out his vow of vengeance to the 
letter. 

‘ It’s awfully good of you, old man,’ he said, ‘ to go over 


Lucy asserts' Herself . 293 

there and open negotiations ; but when did you ever fail 
to stand by a pal in difficulties ? ’ 

‘ Don’t talk rot,’ rejoined Flood bluntly. ‘ Just bear 
this in mind. I have smoothed the way for you, but I 
can’t do any more. The lady declines to treat, you see, 
except with the principal. Mind you ride over there in 
good time to-morrow.’ 

‘Yes. I’ve got a good deal of humble pie to eat, I 
know.’ 

‘ You’ve got to do nothing of the sort,’ replied Alec. 
‘You’ve got to apologise for poor Dartree’s insulting 
speech, which you know he never ought to have made, 
and which I am sure he never would have made, except 
under the influence of wine. But there's another thing. 
Jack. Do you recollect our conversation that last night 
on board ship ? ’ 

‘Yes,’ rejoined Cuxwold. 

‘Well, you had better take it seriously into considera- 
tion. Lucy Bramton is far the nicer sister of the two, and 
he will be a fortunate man who wins her for a wife. This 
is quite disinterested on my part, for if I thought I had the 
slightest chance myself, I would ask her to-morrow ! ’ 

‘ I couldn’t touch upon that at present,’replied Cuxwold. 
She is a nice girl, as I remember, — far too nice to be 
offered the reversion of a pauper peerage. If she gives us 
a last chance to emerge from the slough of our difficulties, 
it’s as much as we can expect.’ 

However, it was settled between the two young men 
that the Earl should be told nothing of the new hopes 
that had dawned concerning Damocles, at all events till 
after Jack’s visits to Temple Rising. 

Lucy that evening had a hard time of it with her 
own family. They were naturally boiling over with 
curiosity to know why Mr Flood had desired a private 
interview with Lucy. What had he to say ? What did he 
want. And when she informed them of what Alec Flood 
had said, their indignation knew no bounds. 

‘ Of course, of course,’ said Mr Bramton angrily, taking 
up a position on the hearthrug, and sticking his thumbs 
into the armholes of his waistcoat, and setting his head 
defiantly on one side. We give them the best we have, and 


294 Long Odds. 

‘Well, Lucy,’ remarked Miss Bramton, ‘if you can 
forget that insulting speech, you have more charity in 
your composition than I have.’ 

‘ The Ranksborows are all supercilious beasts,’ said Sir 
Kenneth, who happened to be staying at Temple Rising. 
‘ They never thought of tendering an apology until it was 
close upon the verge of the big race, and they find Mr 
Bramton is in earnest about what he threatened.’ 

‘Still,’ replied Lucy, ‘I say again this is to punish 
Lord Ranksborow for something he did not do.’ 

‘ He was very insolent to me,’ rejoined Mr Bramton. 
‘And I don’t care what you say. I’ll have no more shilly- 
shallying about it. I shall write to the proper people to- 
morrow, and tell them to take Damocles out of the race.’ 

Lucy said nothing. She could be very determined 
when she chose, and she had made up her mind to 
have her own way in this matter. She would say nothing 
until she had seen Jack Cuxwold ; but she knew that 
these horses were hers, that she was of age, and that it 
depended entirely upon herself to say whether they 
should run or not. Although the nominations stood in 
Stubber’s name, yet the racing world had for the last year 
regarded the horses as Mr Bramton’s property, and it 
was only quite lately the fact had leaked put that they 
were really the property of his daughter. Now though 
her father did not, Lucy Bramton knew perfectly well 
who were the proper people to write to to strike Damocles 
out of the Derby. She foresaw exactly what was taking 
place, — that her father would endeavour to assume the 
control of her horses, and do what he thought fit. And 
to guard against that, she had herself written a line by 
that evening’s post to Messrs Weatherby, to say that she 
had authorised nobody to strike her horses out of their 
engagements, and that they were to pay no attention to 
any instructions, except under her own hand. 

In the meantime, the discussion went on, although 
Lucy took no further part in it, and it was finally agreed 
in the family conclave, that the apology had come far too 
late, and that the Earl of Ranksborow must take the con- 
sequences of the ungentlemanly language it had pleased 
his son to use at the Wroxeter Ball. Lucy was so quiet 


Lucy asserts Herself. 295 

in her manner compared with the rest of her family, that 
her father had never recognised that she could be much 
more determined than either her mother or sister when 
it came to the point. John Bramton had stood to a 
certain extent in awe of what he termed his wife's 
‘ fantags ’ all his life, but he looked upon her whims as 
a mere nothing compared to the wishes and fancies of 
his daughter Matilda. Although Miss Bramton dexter- 
ously concealed it in society, yet in the domestic circle 
she was gifted with a tongue given to run riot when 
things were not going to her liking. She stood in not 
the slightest awe of her parents, and expressed her feel- 
ings with a breadth which, though unpleasant, was gratify- 
ing to hear in these days of the advancing freedom of 
woman. Mr Bramton ventured at times to cross swords 
with his wife — he was somewhat wary even of that en- 
counter— but a downright forcible difference with his 
elder daughter John . Bramton was exceedingly shy of. 
As he once put it confidentially to a crony, — ‘ She’s a 
nice gal Matilda, — good-looking, sensible gal, but I tell 
you what, Bubbleton, she has her ma’s temper, brewed a 
trifle over proof. And it’s a real hot ’un when you come 
to differ with her.' 

Now the opinion of his wife, the opinion of Matilda, 
and also the opinion of Sir Kenneth, all coincided with 
Mr Bramton’s own, and no gentleman who ever owned a 
racehorse went to bed more determined to strike a 
horse out of a race than Mr Bramton did to excise 
Damocles from the Derby the next day. 

Mr Stubber, as well as Messrs Weatherby, was somewhat 
astonished the next morning by a letter he received from 
Lucy Bramton. It was very brief ; it only reminded him 
that she was the real owner of the horse, that he was to 
continue his preparations of the colt for Epsom, and to 
take instructions from no one but herself concerning 
him in the future. That Stubber was delighted with the 
receipt of this letter, it is almost needless to mention. His 
horse was doing as well as anybody could wish, and let 
him only be allowed to start at Epsom, and Stubber 
looked forward to all the glory of leading in the first 
winner of the Derby he had ever trained. That this 


296 Long Odds, 

continue his preparations of the colt for Epsom, and to 
take instructions from no one but herself concerning 
him in the future. That Stubber was delighted with the 
receipt of this letter, it is almost needless to mention. His 
horse was doing as well as anybody could wish, and let 
him only be allowed to start at Epsom, and Stubber 
looked forward to all the glory of leading in the first 
winner of the Derby he had ever trained. That this 
intelligence was speedily conveyed to Mr Skinner was 
matter of course, and then once again Tattersall’s and 
the Victoria Club were wondrously puzzled at the shif- 
tiness of the betting market. Mr Noel and his friends, 
acting on the former’s information, in their anxiety to 
save their money, had driven Damocles once more to 
almost an outside price in the market. Suddenly came 
the reaction, and Mr Skinner and his friends snapped at 
every offer they could get against the colt, till he was once 
more established in the price-list at 6 or 7 to i. Noel 
could not understand it. His own information he 
considered beyond dispute, but he was quite aware that 
his opponent was not the man to throw a chance away, 
and it was little likely that he had ‘ rushed ’ Damocles in 
the market in this fashion, unless he also had pretty good 
grounds for what he was doing. Noel knew that the 
horse was well, and doing capital work. The question 
was, did these Bramtons mean him to run at Epsom? 
According to what he knew, they did not, but Skinner’s 
new tactics pointed to his having information he could 
rely upon that the horse would start. Mr Noel remarked 
testily to one of his intimates that it was about the 
queerest game he had ever seen, and that it was de- 
voutly to be trusted that gentlemen who understood 
nothing about racing might never own racehorses for 
the future. 

Had a bomb-shell fallen into the breakfast-table at 
Temple Rising, it could not have created greater con- 
sternation than did Lucy’s announcement that she ex- 
pected Captain Cuxwold — they had none of them got 
into the habit of calling him Lord Dartree as yet — over 
to see her in the course of the afternoon. 

‘Well, I couldn’t have believed it!’ exclaimed Mr 


Lucy asserts Herself. 297 

Bramton. ‘After the scandalous way in which we have 
been treated by his family, that that young man should 
attempt to force his way into our house, beats me, it 
does.’ 

‘ Should have thought he might have waited till he was 
asked,’ sneered Sir Kenneth. 

‘ It’s the same old story,’ snapped Miss Bramton. ‘ You 
were quite right, papa, the only way to touch these 
people is through their pocket ; and, now Lord Ranks- 
borow finds he is likely to pay dear for the insult that was 
put upon us, he is mean enough to cringe and seek our 
friendship.’ 

‘You have no business to say that!’ exclaimed Lucy 
warmly. ‘ Captain Cuxwold is coming here because I told 
Mr Flood I wished him to come and see me.’ 

‘ And I should like to know, miss,’ cried Mrs Bramton, 
‘ what reason you have for asking a man we dislike to 
your father’s house ? ’ 

‘ I don’t well know how you can dislike a man you 
never saw,’ retorted Lucy ; ‘ at all events, I have some- 
thing to say to him, and I don’t see where else I am to 
say it.’ 

‘ I couldn’t have believed it of you ; I couldn’t in- 
deed 1 ’ exclaimed Mr Bramton. ‘ Asking a man who 
called your sister — ’ 

‘ Papa 1 ’ suddenly cried Miss Bramton, and Mr Bram 
ton suddenly gave a gulp, as if he had swallowed an 
orange. 

Sir Kenneth’s face wore a look of disappointed curiosity. 
He had never been able to make out what this insulting 
speech had been precisely. Miss Bramton had sw^orn 
her whole family to secrecy on the appellation that had 
been conferred on her. 

‘You would surely never be so mean,’ continued 
Matilda, ‘to start that horse after all. You won’t let her, 
papa, surely?’ 

‘I have not made up my mind,’ rejoined Lucy; ‘but I 
can tell you this : I am of age, and the horse is mine, 
and I shall certainly do as I think best with my 
own. Had Lord Dartree lived, Matilda, it would have 
been different. The insult, remember, was almost as 


298 Long Odds. 

great to me as to yourself, but the man who uttered it 
is gone/ 

‘ I can’t say, Lucy,’ remarked Mr Bramton severely, 
‘ that you are showing much consideration for the feelings 
of your family. I never thought you, at all events, would 
turn out a headstrong daughter.’ 

‘ I must think for mysell on this point,’ rejoined Lucy. 
‘ Captain Cuxwold, remember, was very kind to me that 
time I was at Cairo ; and it’s hardly fair to punish him 
for an offence which he did not commit ; and, as Mr Flood 
pointed out the day before yesterday, it is he who will 
eventually suffer for the words his brother spoke. 
Secondly, our name will be brought into terrible disre- 
pute if Damocles does not start. All sorts of nasty things 
will be written against you, papa, for the odium of the 
horse, not running will be put down to you ; and lastly, 
had poor Uncle Dick lived, I’m sure his earnest wish 
would have been that Damocles might win the Derby. 

‘ You must go your own way ; henceforth I wash my 
hands of you,’ retorted Mr Bramton feebly. And then 
the conclave broke up, with a tacit understanding that 
none of them, at all events, would extend the hand of 
friendship to the Honourable Captain Cuxwold. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

DAMOCLES SHALL RUN. 

Jack Cuxwold started for his visit to Temple Rising in 
due course, but he by no means liked the doing of this 
thing that he had to do. It w^as all very well to apologise 
for poor Dartree’s reckless words, but it was another 
thing to come asking a favour at the same time. Such 
assistance as he had been able to give Lucy Bramton at 
Cairo, he had been only too pleased to bestow ; but 
that he should ever make capital of it, and ask her, in 
return for such trifle, to do him a great favour, had never 


Damocles shall run. 


299 

crossed his mind. That a Cuxwold could possibly look 
for assistance from a niece of Dick Bramton — the half 
bookmaker, half owner of racehorses — was a thing Jack 
Cuxwold would have derided. Yet now it was so ; and 
the last chance of Knightshayes escaping from the 
vuitures that already crowded the air, lay in the decision 
of this girl of one-and-twenty. The fiat of herself and 
family had gone forth, and Knightshayes, metaphorically, 
was given to the crows, or, to speak more prosaically, the 
broad acres of the Ranksborows must go to those from 
whom they had borrowed moneys — not wisely, but too 
freely. It wasn’t a pleasant task that lay before him. He 
recollected the bright, bonny English girl that stood 
before him on the deck of the steamer, as he pressed her 
hand in bidding her adieu. He had looked forward, 
many a time, to what fun it would be their meeting 
again ; but there seemed to be very little fun about it 
now. True, he had no fear of being met in any hostile 
spirit. It was little likely that any woman, much less 
a girl like Lucy Bramton, would send for him to pour 
forth the vials of her wrath on his head for the offending 
of his dead brother ; but he had looked forward to 
meeting her so differently. He was to have been the 
prince descending from his platform to welcome the 
humble maiden he had met in foreign lands ; and now, 
he was riding forth as the bankrupt noble, humbly 
imploring Lucy to, if possible, save him from the effects 
of the improvidence of his ancestors. 

He had argued it out more than once, and he argued 
it out yet again, as he rode slowly towards Temple 
Rising. No, the more he looked at it the less he liked 
it. Nothing was more repugnant to him than this visit, 
and yet he felt that it was his bounden duty to make it, 
for the sake of his family. 

It was a chance — only a chance, if you like — but the 
last chance of averting the final crash. To say that those 
words which his brother had uttered were a mistake, 
words uttered when his brother was not quite himself, 
and which all his family deeply regretted, was easy 
enough. But it was difficult to ask a favour on the top 
of this. As far as he remembered Lucy Bramton, she 


3(X) Long Odds, 

was a girl to whom it would be easier to make tnis 
request than to many. But Jack was far too much a 
man of the world not to know how circumstances change 
people, and that the heiress of West Barkshire might 
prove very different from the pleasant, unassuming girl 
he had met with in the land of the Pharaohs. He had 
Alec Flood’s word for it that she was not changed. But 
ah ! he sighed, with a dreary smile, Alec wanted nothing 
from her, little thinking that Alec had asked for far 
more than he dreamt of doing to-day, and had ridden 
home with his petition rejected. He reached Temple 
Rising at last, jumped off his hack, rang the bell, and 
inquired for Miss Lucy Bramton. 

It takes a good deal to stagger the aplomb of a light 
dragoon, more especially when dealing with flunkydom ; 
but even Jack Cuxwold was staggered at the extra- 
ordinary, interest he seemed to excite in the butler and 
one or two footmen, who invariably paraded upon the 
arrival of a visitor at Temple Rising. In the first place. 
Jack was a hero from the Soudan, reputed to have slain 
heaps of ‘ them there Arabs ’ with his own hand ; and, 
secondly, it is not to be supposed that all the household 
were not perfectly aware of the feud that existed between 
their master and Knightshayes. The tragic death of 
Lord Dartree, and the sudden accession of ‘ that there 
captive of the Arabs’ to his place, had produced end- 
less discussion in the servants’ hall ; and that the wild 
warriors of the Soudan tattooed their captives, had been 
most emphatically laid down by the butler. 

In Barkshire Jack Cuxwold was regarded as a hero, 
and wondrous were the tales told of his escape from the 
Arabs, and the numbers he had slain in achieving it. 
The servants at Temple Rising were all agog to get a 
peep at the man who, in West Barkshire eyes, was the 
hero of the Soudan. However, Cuxwold, after some 
slight delay, is ushered into the pretty morning-room, 
and there he finds Lucy awaiting him. There was con- 
siderable constraint about their manner to begin with; 
but, for a wonder, the Lancer is the first to recover his 
sang froid. 

‘ I should never have ventured to intrude upon you 


Damocles shall run. 


301 

Miss Bramton/ he said, in a low tone, Alec Flood 
had not assured me that you would see me. As it is, 
the first thing I have to do is to apologise for my poor 
brother’s unfortunate speech at Wroxeter. I am sure he 
was not expressing his real feelings, and what he said 
was wrung from him because he lost his temper at being 
rallied by Anson and the rest of them about his atten- 
tions to your sister.’ 

‘ I heard what he said, and nothing can excuse his 
words,’ replied Lucy. 

‘I don’t pretend that I can. I don’t even pretend 
that its being never meant for your ears was much pallia- 
tion of the offence ; but he’s gone, poor fellow, and I 
can only urge what little there is in his defence. Re- 
member how often men talk at random after a few 
glasses of wine, and say what they never seriously 
intended.’ 

‘ Captain Cuxwold,’ said Lucy quietly, ‘ you were very 
kind to me last year at Cairo, and I have not forgotten 
it; but can you honestly say that this apology would 
have been tendered us, even thus late in the day, if your 
father had not been so heavily interested in the running 
of Damocles at Epsom ? ’ 

‘I can say this,’ replied Jack, ‘that we should pro- 
bably never have ventured to come near Temple Rising 
if you had not given me the opening you did ; but, now 
that I am here, I can say honestly that I am very glad 
to have the opportunity of expressing our great regret at 
what has occurred, and to assure you that it has never 
been our habit to ridicule your family.’ 

‘ Lord Ranksborow, I am told, will win an enormous 
sum of money if Damocles should win.’ . 

‘Yes,’ replied Jack. 

‘And yourself?’ 

‘ Nothing ; I haven’t a shilling on the race,’ said Cux- 
wold. 

‘ And — I don’t want to pry into your affairs — but is it 
true that Lord Ranksborow is in great need of a lot of 
money ? ’ 

‘ It’s no great secret, and I daresay all the county 
know we’ve nearly come to the end of our tether ; but 


302 Lo7ig Odds, 

remember you promise that it shall never pass your lips 
that I admitted it to you/ 

Lucy nodded. 

‘ Then nothing but Damocles winning the Derby can 
possibly avert our smash ; there’ll be nothing for it but 
to sell half the property, shut up Knightshayes, and go 
abroad.’ 

For a few minutes Lucy was silent. She felt she must 
make up her mind for good now ; and, on the other 
hand, if she thought Jack Cuxwold was going to say a 
word more on the subject, she was grievously mistaken. 
Jack had been very straightforward about it all. He had 
answered her questions, and made no disguise of what 
a great thing it would be for his father, and, of course, 
indirectly for himself, that Damocles should win the 
Derby, but he was not going to plead with her for the 
horse’s starting. 

Suddenly she raised her head. 

‘Tell Lord Ranksborow,’ she said, ‘from me, Damodes 
shall run for the Derby,^ and that if he wins I shall ex- 
pect you all to call at Temple Rising. Good-bye ; ’ and 
Lucy extended her hand, in token that their interview was 
ended. 

‘It is very very good of you,’ he murmured, as he 
pressed the small palm within his own, and in another 
minute or two he was outside the house. 

‘ Alec’s right,’ he muttered, as he rode home ; ‘ that’s 
a girl in a hundred. If she hadn’t such a lot of money, 
I’m blessed if I wouldn’t try my luck. However, it’s no 
good thinking about that. We must see what Damocles 
can do to put us on our legs to start with. This will be 
great news for the governor.’ 

When Alec Flood heard Jack’s story, he said quietly, — 

‘ I thought it would come out all right. The speed 
and gameness of one horse saved your paying that un- 
conscionable hotel bill that old Front de Boeuf had 
made out for you, and we must simply trust that Damocles 
will prove as good a horse to the Earl as The Mummer 
was to you. There is only one thing I hope*’ 

‘ What’s that ? ’ inquired Jack. 

‘That you’ll stick to what Lucy Bramton told you. 


Damocles shall run. 303 

Don’t go near Temple Rising till after the Derby, and 
then, win or lose, your father must call. He can say 
then what he cannot quite say now.’ 

‘J understand,’ said Jack. ‘An apology now would 
look as if made with the one object.^ 

‘ Exactly. Another thing, don’t you suppose that girl 
has got things quite her own way. When you determine 
to do a thing which meets the direct disapproval of all 
your family, the domestic circle is apt to get a little 
unpleasant. Leave her to play her cards in her own 
way.’ 

‘Right you are, old man,’ said Jack; ‘but I must tell 
my father. He is very down in his luck just now, and 
though nothing may come of it, still the knowledge that 
Damocles is to run will be like a gleam of sunshine to 
him.’ 

‘Not a doubt about it,’ replied Alec, laughing. Like 
the war-horse, he will scent the battle from afar, and be 
sanguine as ever of success.’ 

Flood was perfectly right. No sooner was it imparted 
to. the Earl that Damocles positively would start, than 
that veteran plunger’s eye sparkled, and he became quite 
as confident of victory as he had ever been in his 
palmiest days. But he quite saw the wisdom of adhering 
strictly to the programme that Lucy Bramton had laid 
down. He thoroughly relied upon the young lady’s 
word, but it was a ticklish business even yet, and any 
movement on his part might be a wrong one. Much 
better to do nothing than make any such mistake. 

Mr Stubber, in the meanwhile, has been lifted into the 
seventh heaven. He has received a letter from Miss Lucy 
Bramton, in which she informs him that these horses — 
as indeed the sporting papers had previously informed 
him — are her property solely, and that he is to take orders 
from nobody else concerning them ; that Damocles is 
to run at Epsom, and, she trusts, win, but that the colt 
is to run, well or not well. He naturally writes off the 
news to the commissioner, and winds ifp his letter with, — 
‘It’s all right now; the horse never was better, and I’ll 
walk in at the head of a Derby winner just for once ; you 
see if I don’t.’ 


304 Long Odds. 

It wanted now only about a week to the great race, 
and Mr Noel was more than ever disconcerted at the 
rush there was to get on Damocles. What it was he did 
not know ; even the public seemed at last to have caught 
the infection. What they knew, and what they were 
going on, Mr Noel could not conceive; but one thing 
was quite certain, that the backers had quite tired out 
the layers, that Damocles had quite recovered his 
pride of place in the market, and bid fair to start one of 
the hottest favourites for the great race ever known. As 
for Skinner, his commissions seemed inexhaustible. 
Curious to see what they would close at, Mr Noel 
proffered 2 to i against Damocles, towards the close of 
that afternoon. It was the shortest price that the colt 
had yet touched ; but Skinner shot him at once. 

‘I’ll take it in hundreds, Noel,’ he cried, ‘and will go 
on at the price, if you like ! ” But Mr Noel shook his 
head. He was beginning bitterly to repent of his change 
of tactics. He had begun by betting heavily against the 
horse, then, taking advantage of the scare produced by 
the horse’s rumoured illness, which he had himself 
brought about, he had turned round and become one of 
its heaviest supporters. Then, acting on the exclusive 
information which he had derived from John Bramton’s 
letter, he had again turned round, and ranged himself 
against the horse’s bitterest opponents. Mr Noel began 
to be dimly conscious that he had made a fool of him- 
self, and changed sides once too often. Why had he ever 
suffered himself to be gulled into supporting that speci- 
ous scheme of his precious nephew’s ? If it hadn’t been 
for that, he would never have got John Bramton’s letter, 
and would have acted quite differently. True, Mr 
Napper had only acted in accordance with his uncle’s 
orders ; but when their schemes go awry, men are apt to 
forget that such schemes were of their own prompting, 
and cast round upon whose shoulders it is most feasible 
to lay the blame. 


Winning the Derby. 


305 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

WINNING THE DERBY. 

Firm as a rock at the termination of his two-year-old 
career had Damocles been in the betting. for the Derby, 
and with good warrant from his performances ; tossed 
like a cork hither and thither as the Spring drew on, till 
even those wiliest in turf lore and the vagaries of the bet- 
ting market shook their heads, and said there was either 
something wrong with the horse or with those connected 
with him. Suddenly both those reputed clever, and 
that great general public who know nothing further 
than what the calendar teaches them, but who, for all 
that, are much oftener right than those who have obtained 
‘ information^ were astounded at finding Damocles once 
more installed first favourite for the Derby, and with ^so 
much money behind him that any shaking of his position 
before the race seemed most improbable. There were 
sinister rumours about the horse, and many were the 
whispers that ‘ It had been a pretty game, and the young 
lady’s friends ought to be ashamed of themselves.’ It 
was, of course, now generally known that Damocles was 
the property of a lady. Nobody for one moment con- 
nected Lucy Bramton with any fraud or wTong-doing ; 
while as for John Bramton, the racing world had already 
come to the conclusion that his being a rogue on the 
turf was all nonsense, — that, even if he wished to be one, 
he knew so little about the mysteries of that famous pas- 
time, ‘ that he didn’t know how,’ and therefore his unfor- 
tunate trainer fell in for all the odium of the situation. 
Yes, this was Stubber’s doing. Stubber had pulled the 
strings. Stubber, for many years, had delighted in play- 
ing the game of thimble-rig with the public. Stubber, 
as of yore, had served them up a mock favourite in 
Lucifer, and pretended that Damocles had gone amiss, 
when the colt had never been sick or sorry. Stubber 
was accountable for the whole unsavoury business that 
had been pursued in connection with the horse, and it 
U 


3 o 6 Long Odds, 

was much to be desired that that scoundrel Stubber should 
profit nothing by all his hanky-panky tricks. 

Poor Stubber ! He was an honest enough hard-working 
trainer, but it had been his misfortune to have a few 
masters to whom racehorses were nothing but instru- 
ments for gaming. He had said once before in melan- 
choly tones to a few of his cronies, that he was ‘ tired 
to death of getting bosses ready for races, for which it 
was never intended they should run.’ And now, poor 
man, he was accused of manipulating Damocles in the 
turf market, a thing with which we know he had nothing 
whatever to do. But the trainer very often bears the 
blame upon these occasions ; and should, at the last 
moment, the horse not justify the confidence displayed 
in him, it’s odds that the jockey also is deemed to have 
contributed to his defeat In a case like this, the actual 
result of the race matters very little . Win or lose, the 
public are wont to believe that those connected with the 
horse that has been knocked about in the market after 
the manner of Damocles, have made their money out of 
it ; and the popular verdict of approval or disapproval, 
whether they cheer the winner, or receive his victory 
with a groan, depends principally upon how far his 
triumph has profited that great force — the British public. 
They are a tremendous force, this British public, and 
guided in the main by a marvellous sense of fair play, — 
apt always to identify themselves with the weaker side. 
In opposition to the authorities, if they have the slightest 
idea that there has been undue exercise of the preroga- 
tive. Their appreciation of pluck — of what I must term 
‘ straight going,’ is extraordinary. Few who ever wit- 
nessed it can forget the cheer that met the late Marquis 
of Hastings as he walked into the ring on Ascot Heath 
after that, for him, disastrous Derby of ’67, his face — 
cool, calm, dauntless as ever — leaving no clue to the 
spectator of what a terrible inroad into a fine property 
the great race at Epsom of ten days before had re- 
sulted in. 

The Derby week has arrived at last, and the market 
indicates that Damocles is as well as his admirers could 
desire. Even Mr Noel is quite convinced now that he 


Winning the Derby. 307 

will run, although his name is not yet mentioned among 
the arrivals at Epsom. Noel has resigned himself to lose 
his money. The bookmaker does not like this — nobody 
does, for the matter of that — but still it is all in the way 
of business, and it by no means signifies ruin to him. 
Lord Ranksborow’s case is very different : the colt’s 
victory for him means salvation. 

As Flood had surmised, Lucy Bramton had a hard 
time of it with her family, when she asserted her intention 
of doing what she liked with her own. Miss Bramton 
and Sir Kenneth strongly opposed it, and, urged by them, 
Mr Bramton was very obstinate about the matter. But 
there was no contesting her right, and Mr Bramton was 
quite aware now that to give orders in opposition to his 
daughter’s, would be to make himself ridiculous. Driven 
to bay, she told him what she had written to Messrs 
Weatherby, and also to Stubber. 

‘It would be useless interfering, papa,’ she said. 
‘ Messrs Weatherby will not strike Damocles out of his 
engagements for anybody but myself; and now I have told 
Stubber the horse is to go to Epsom, you may depend 
upon it he will go. You will all thank me for it after- 
wards, and you, papa, as much as anybody.’ 

‘ Very kind of you to take care of our reputations, my 
dear,’ said Miss Bramton ; ‘ but people are not so for- 
giving, unless they have some personal interest in making 
friends again.’ 

‘ I don’t understand you,’ rejoined Lucy. 

‘ Oh, yes, you do,’ said Miss Bramton. ‘ You know 
very well that if you had not seen something of Captain 
Cuxwold at Cairo, you would not have passed over the 
insult offered to your family.’ 

Miss Bramton had taken care, in the interim between 
Cuxwold’s visit and the Derby week, to plant several such 
pin-pricks, but that did' not prevent her, any more than 
the rest of the family, from going up to town for the 
great race, and taking advantage of the capital box in the 
grand-stand which Lucy had commissioned Alec Flood 
to procure for them. So, in spite of the family jars 
which had preceded it, when the saddling-bell rang for 
the Derby, the Bramtons were all there to see. 


3o8 Long Odds, 

The contest itself proved as prosaic an affair as ever 
was witnessed for the great race of the world. Damocles 
got well off, and always held a good place; got safely 
round Tattenham Corner, and when, fairly in the straight, 
his jockey brought him to the front, the battle seemed 
won. It was not, however, destined to be quite so hollow 
a victory as it then looked, for the horse was called upon 
to stall off two determined challenges between the half 
distance and the winning-post. But he ran the longest, 
and eventually won very cleverly by a good length. 

There was an ominous silence in the ring, which pro- 
claimed that that fraternity, as a body, were no winners by 
the result. Not that they will not, even when losers, often 
cheer a popular owner’s triumph. But in this case Mr 
John Bramton was unknown to them. They only knew that 
he did not bet, and that the winner had, for some inscrut- 
able reasons, been played great pranks with in the betting. 
But a cheer did break out at last, and what gave rise to 
it was this. It was suddenly remembered that though 
the horse figured in the card as the property of Mr 
Stubber, he really belonged to Miss Lucy Bramton ; and 
Then, as Stubber proudly led his charge in, there burst 
forth a ringing cheer for the first lady who had ever 
carried off the Blue Ribbon of the turf. 

As for Lucy, she witnessed the race with mixed feelings. 
She was glad her horse had won. She was glad to think 
that Knightshayes was rescued from impatient creditors. 
Jack Cuxwold might never care for her, but he could 
never forget in days to come that he owed house and 
lands almost to her. And then the ‘ something bitter,’ of 
a peculiarly feminine nature, was mingled in the cup of 
her triumph. They were such ugly colours. She felt 
quite sure that all the ladies of her acquaintance, when 
they congratulated her, would supplement it with the 
exclamation of ‘ What a hideous jacket ! Do, pray. Miss 
Bramton, change your colours for something prettier.’ 
She couldn't explain that, though urged not to do so, 
on the ground that changing her colours meant chang- 
ing her luck, she had fully determined to adopt some 
prettier combination, but that her feeling for her poor 
Uncle Dick prevented it. She knew, had he lived, 


Winning the Derby. 309 

how proud he would have been to see his old racng 
banner first pass the post on the Derby day. One 
person appeared in the box to tender his congratula- 
tions, whom Lucy was very glad to see, and that was 
Alec Flood. 

‘Did you hear them cheer you?' he observed, the 
first congratulations over. 

‘ But they always do that at the Derby, don't they?' 

‘ Generally,' he rejoined ; ‘ but on this occasion they 
were cheering you personally, as the only lady who has 
ever won it.' 

Lucy laughed merrily, as she rejoined, — 

‘I had no idea I was rendering myself famous.' 

‘Yes, you will find plenty about yourself in the papers 
for the next two or three days.' 

‘And Lord Ranksborow?' inquired Lucy, in a low 
whisper. 

‘ You have saved him. He has won an enormous stake.* 
You see, he never laid any of his money off. It wasn't 
worth while. It was a case of neck or nothing. And as for 
Mr Stubber, it's the proudest moment of his life. I've 
just been told that he is in the trainers' stand, distribut- 
ing unlimited champagne to everybody who likes to 
call for it. But I must be off now. Do you stay in town, 
or are you going back to Temple Rising?' 

‘ We shall remain in town for the next month or six 
weeks,' replied Lucy, ‘ and then go home again.' 

And Alec Flood, having elicited the information which 
he had pledged himself to obtain, shook hands with the 
Bramtons, and departed. 

Alec had promised Jack to discover the intentions of 
the family about returning to Temple Rising. 

There were two other spectators who had looked on 
at the race with feverish interest. These were the Earl 
of Ranksborow and Jack. Clad in deep mourning, for 
it was only some six or seven weeks since he had laid 
his eldest son in the grave, the Earl had taken up a 
retired position, and rather shrank from recognition. 

* No such betting was possible in ’84 and ’85, but twenty years 
ago yearling books were not uncommon — 20,000 to 300 the recog- 
nised bet. 


310 Long Odds. 

He had gambled boldly many a time, indeed had been 
a plunger from the days of his youth up, but this was his 
Bosworth field. Like the crook-backed Richard, he had 
set his crown upon the die, and, by heavens, it had come 
off 1 He had won such a sum of money as, even in the days 
of heavy betting, had rarely been taken out of the Ring. 
Jack had looked on by his side, and personally won a 
mere trifle on the race ; but he knew, nobody better, what 
the victory of Damocles meant He knew that Knight- 
shayes was saved; and though quite aware that many 
people would prophesy that the Earl would never receive 
his money, — that he had fairly broke the Ring, and could 
not expect it. Jack knew better. He knew quite enough 
about racing to know how often that had been said falsely, 
— that the Ring, as a body, always settled, and that, though 
here and there a man might fail temporarily to meet his 
liabilities, as a rule they were more to be depended on than 
most business men. What puzzled Jack most was when 
and how he was next to meet Lucy Bramton ? He was 
bound to call and thank her as soon as he possibly could. 
No man more thoroughly recognised the great obligation 
under which he lay to her ; but he felt that he should 
meet her on somewhat different grounds this time. And 
then he wondered how she would receive him. Surely she 
must have some kind of feeling for him, or she would 
never have condoned his brother’s imprudent speech. 
He did not want the girl for her money, although, like 
any other man of the world, he could not be blind to 
the advantages it brought with it. Till the victory 
of Damocles, if he married, that was a shie qud. non. 
Now, though highly desirable, it was no longer a neces- 
sity. That the Ranksborow peerage could still stand 
much buttressing in that respect, he was quite aware; but 
before the Derby, it had looked like crumbling to the 
ground. 

When he met Alec Flood that evening at the Helio- 
trope, and heard his report, he resolved, at all events, to 
call on the Bramtons without delay, and he thought it ex- 
pedient, in the first instance, to write a note and request 
permission to do so. 

* Nothing succeeds like success.* 


Conclusion. 


311 

And when, the Bramtons found themselves generally con- 
gratulated, and made a fuss with on having won the Derby, 
they began upon the whole to think perhaps after all that 
Lucy had acted rightly, and to enlarge upon charity to- 
wards their neighbours, and the not carrying of animo- 
sities beyond the grave. John Bramton indeed found 
himself quite a man of importance, and, much to his 
astonishment, was more than once complimented upon 
the way he had out-manoeuvred a crew of blacklegs, who 
had intended putting his horse hors de combat^ by pretend- 
ing to chime in with their plans. John Bramton didn't 
quite understand what they meant, but he did understand 
that on this subject silence was discretion, and discovered 
that an expressive wink was a rejoinder suitable to the 
occasion, which usually sent the speaker away like a man 
who had solved an abstruse conundrum. As for Lucy 
Bramton, nothing puzzled her more than the enormous 
number of letters that followed her Epsom triumph. The 
begging letters that poured in upon her came like a heavy 
snowstorm, and would, have made a considerable hole 
even in the Earl of Ranksborow's winnings. As Lucy 
said, ‘I had no idea of the obligations of winning the 
Derby.' It seems a fourth of the churches in England 
are out of repair, and look to me to assist in their restora- 
tion, while as for the widows, orphans, and gentlemen of 
university education who “are in want of temporary «nr,- 
sistance to enable them to make a fresh start in life," 
their name is legion, and I am sure the stakes for the 
Derby would never suffice to set them on their legs.^ 


CONCLUSION. 

Not only with John Bramton, but through the whole 
family, a decided reaction had set in in favour of Lucy's 
conduct. The thing was done now, for good or for evil, 
and Matilda Bramton saw that it was decidedly advisable 
to make the best of it. If she was a little sharp in her 


temper, Miss Bramton was wise in her generation. She 
had had bitter provocation, and certainly would have 
avenged herself had the control of Damocles rested with 
her ; while the way Lucy behaved at the finish strength- 
ened her suspicions that there was a tacit understanding 
between her and Jack Cuxwold. Matilda was very fond 
of her sister, and a worldly-minded young woman to boot, 
and was not at all insensible to the social advantage of 
having a sister who, in due course, would become 
Countess of Ranksborow. She accordingly gave the 
word to Sir Kenneth, and though that somewhat narrow- 
minded baronet was wont to be implacable in his ani-^ 
mosities, yet he had by this time discovered that his 
fianc'ee had a will of her own. Add to which, it was no 
use protesting against accomplished facts, and therefore 
the baronet was quite content to let bygones be bygones; 
indeed, there was open speculation in the family as to 
whether the Knightshayes people would make overtures 
of reconciliation. Lucy, of course, was constantly ap- 
pealed to on that point ; she declined to give any 
opinion, until one morning at breakfast she remarked 
casually, — 

‘ Captain Cuxwold has written me a line that he will 
call here at three o’clock this afternoon.’ 

‘Well, I think,’ said Mr Bramton, a little pompously, 
‘he might have sent that information to me.’ 

‘ Don’t be a goose, you dear old papa ! ’ exclaimed 
Matilda, resolved to be thoroughly sisterly, at all events; 
‘ he wants to see Lucy in the first place, to thank her. 
All the world knows now it’s her horse, and no one knows 
better than Captain Cuxwold that he is indebted to Lucy 
for Damocles going to Epsom.’ 

‘ I think,’ said Lucy, ‘ he will want to see you all ; but 
perhaps I had better see him in the first place.’ 

And so it was settled, as so many of our social come- 
dies are, that when Captain Cuxwold called, Lucy should 
receive him, and that the family should drop in pro- 
miscuously, as if unaware that there was anybody par- 
ticular in the drawing room. 

True to his time. Jack made his appearance in Stan- 
hope Place, where th6 Bramtons had rented a house for 


Conclusion, 


313 

the remainder of the season. Lucy rose to welcome 
him. As Jack shook hands, he congratulated her on 
her success. 

‘Not,’ he continued, ‘ that my congratulations are 
worth having, for they can but sound thoroughly selfish 
in your ears.’ 

‘ Hush ! ’ replied the girl ; ‘ no more of that. I was 
only too glad to pay service for service.’ 

‘You saved us from ruin,’ replied Jack, in a low voice, 
‘and no thanks I can express are adequate — ’ 

‘ Stop ! ’ she interrupted, a little imperiously ; ‘ I won’t 
listen to another word of thanks. It is quite understood 
between us, if you have it in your power to do me a good 
turn, you will. Well, perhaps I shall ask you some day. 

In the first place, I shall expect you to make friends 
with my people. You have never seen them as yet, 
remember.’ 

‘ But that I shall hope to do now,’ said Cuxwold. 

‘Now,’ she continued, ‘sit down and tell me all about . 
yourself. Mr Flood tells me you led a life of wonderful 
adventure in the Soudan, and that your escape from the 
Arabs was a most ludicrous stratagem. I want to hear 
all about it.' 

Once more Jack found himself recounting how he 
had been picked up for dead by the Halawins ; how 
he eventually laughed at the beard of Mohammed 
Sebekh ; and if he had said nothing about the episode 
of Zelne at Knightshayes, it was still less likely he 
would allude to it in Stanhope Place. By the time 
he had finished, the family had gradually sauntered 
into the room, and Jack was rapidly on excellent 
terms with all of them, with, perhaps, the exception 
of Sir Kenneth, who being blessed with a very inex- 
pansive disposition, took, as his friends said, ‘a deal 
of knowing.’ 

A few days afterwards the Earl of Ranksborow called, 
and expressed his great regret for all that had occurred, 
and the reconciliation was general, although the peer 
rather winced when John Bramton, with a wink and a 
chuckle, said, — 

‘ I say, my lord, you’d have bought a cheap horse from 


314 Long Odds. 

me if you had got Damocles on your terms that day you 
first came over to Temple Rising/ • 

Both the Ranksborows and the Bramtons still lingered 
on in town till far into July, and by that time there were 
very few concerned who had not quite made up their 
minds about what would be the end of the Damocles- 
Derby, as far as Jack and Lucy Bramton were concerned. 
Matilda said she had guessed it, before she ever set eyes 
on the Lancer. And as for the Ladies Cuxwold, they 
were quite aware it was impending, and thought it would 
all do very nicely. This was just as well, for Jack was 
given to going his own way, whether his family liked 
it or no. 

One evening in July, when the trees in Hyde Park 
were clothed in their fullest foliage, when not a breath 
was stirring, and the moon flooded the whole town with 
her queenly light, Lucy and Jack stood out on the balcony 
in Stanhope Place, and gazed on, perhaps, the most 
picturesque park in England. They had lingered in 
town far longer than they had intended, these two 
families, for was there not once again gold galore in the 
coffers of the spendthrift house of Ranksborow? while 
thrifty John Bramton, had he not always a warm balance 
at his bankers ? There had been merry days at Ascot, 
where the gentlemen had bet only to amuse themselves, 
and not with the feverish thirst of gambling ; afternoons 
at Hurlingham ; dinners at Richmond, and many a pleasant 
garden-party, both in and out of the metropolis ; but now 
it was all to come to an end, and both families were 
about to wend their way back to Barkshire. Jack had 
never spoken outright, nor did it seem to occur to any- 
body, even including Lucy, that there was any necessity 
for his doing so. If a thorough understanding did not 
exist between those two, well then appearances can never 
be relied on again ; but this evening, as they stood look- 
ing over the park from the Bayswater Road end of 
Stanhope Place, it did occur to Jack that the tacit en- 
gagement existing between them ought to be properly 
formulated 

‘ What a jolly season it has been,’ he observed. * If I 
live to be a hundred, I shall never expect to live two such 


Conclusion. 315 

months again. It only wants one thing more ; you know 
what I mean, Lucy. Once more I'm a beggar. I am 
begging this time more earnestly than I have ever done 
yet. You know what I would ask. Will you give me 
this ? ' and as he spoke, Jack imprisoned Lucy's little hand 
within his own. 

The girl looked straight out at the moonlight for a 
minute or two before she answered, and then said, — 

‘Yes, Jack, if you Ye quite sure you want it, it's 
yours.' 

Jack's arm stole round her waist, and as his lips met 
hers, I think he felt that the London season had no 
further gift to shower on his head. 

As for Mr Napper, he escaped better than he deserved 
to do. Mr Pecker, having ascertained that Tom Robbins 
was an arrant impostor, and also that Mr Napper was 
really nothing but an understrapper in the firm he pre- 
tended to represent, had not deemed it worth while to 
expose him to his employers. And as for Tom Robbins, 
to the end of his days he enjoyed a certain celebrity 
amongst his fellows as having, in the horse's most up and 
down days, positively maintained that Damocles would 
win the Derby. It was two or three years afterwards 
that the Earl told Skinner, on one of his periodical visits 
to Knightshayes, the rea^ h’st'?TT of that famous Derby, 
and how very much Lady Dartree had had finally to say 
to it. 

The sagacious commissioner shook his head as he 
replied, — 

‘ Ah ! my lord, ladies shouldn't be allowed to own race- 
horses — the Jockey Club ought to see to it. They are too 
emotional, too impulsive. What a business this Damocles 
was, — puzzled the cleverest men in the ring; and the 
grandest coup I ever planned was as near as possible 
bowled over because a young man was overheard to make 
a rude remark about a young woman, instead of asking 
her to marry him.' 

Anyone that has read the numerous narratives of the 
Soudan campaign, and studied the maps, must come to 
the conclusion that the advance from Korti was admir- 


3i6 Long Odds. 

ably planned, and infinitely superior to that from Suakim 
and Berber, advocated by Gordon. That it was too late, 
was due to the miserable vacillation of a Government 
that reckoned party and politics of more account than 
human life or the honour of their country. 


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